


Cassiopeia Lily Malfoy

by GallaPlacidia



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Angst, Angst with a Happy Ending, Harry Potter Epilogue What Epilogue | EWE, Hurt/Comfort, Kid Fic, Letters, M/M, Post Mpreg, harry is a dick at the beginning
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-01-10
Updated: 2020-01-22
Packaged: 2021-02-27 07:00:28
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 15
Words: 37,312
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22192930
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/GallaPlacidia/pseuds/GallaPlacidia
Summary: In eighth year, Harry had a toxic fling with Draco Malfoy. Ten years later, a little girl shows up, begging for Harry's help. Could the two be connected? And did Harry misunderstand what Draco was trying to tell him, the last time they spoke?Feat. angry 8th year Harry being truly horrible to Draco, Draco writing a lot of letters he never sends Harry, and the most Gryffindor-Slytherin hybrid ten-year-old you've ever seen.
Relationships: Draco Malfoy/Harry Potter
Comments: 623
Kudos: 3728





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

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It was a cold, wet evening, and Harry was exhausted in the particularly headachy way that he knew only came from too many hours of paper work. He apparated outside Grimmauld Place, already mentally pouring himself a glass of red wine and trying to shed the strains of the day.

A small girl sat on his doorstep.

“Mr. Potter?” she asked.

“Er. Yes?”

The little girl stood. She was neatly dressed, but she didn’t have a coat on, and looked very cold and damp. Her small hands were nearly blue. 

“I need your help,” she said. “My father’s been kidnapped.”

______

Harry and Malfoy started sleeping together in the last term of eighth year. It was kind of a hate thing. Harry was pretty fucked up that year: he had nightmares all night, he was struck by random bouts of uncontrollable rage, he couldn’t focus, he couldn’t _think_. He was so nasty to Ginny that she not only broke up with him, but Ron actually punched him in the mouth. They made up afterwards. By the time Harry was in his early twenties, he had mellowed out a lot, had figured out how to live with himself. He apologised to Ginny for being a shitty boyfriend, and to Ron and Hermione for being a shitty friend.

But in those first months after the Easter holidays, when he had alienated all the people who loved him, there was Draco Malfoy. Harry could be as nasty as he liked, to Draco Malfoy. And Malfoy was nasty right back. It started with Harry pushing Malfoy against a wall and calling him worthless. It ended with Harry fucking Malfoy fiercely from behind in the quidditch locker rooms. 

It was only supposed to happen once. But somehow, it ended up happening again. And again. And again. 

“I fucking hate you,” said Harry, after they were done.

“Yes, join the club, Scarhead,” said Malfoy. “Doesn’t stop you from seeking me out like some needy little girlfriend, does it?”

“Only because everyone knows you’re a slut, Malfoy. You’ll take it from anybody.”

“Tut, tut, Potter. If that’s what I am, what does that make you? Someone with _very_ low standards.”

Harry sneered at him and walked away. 

________

  
Harry stared at the little girl on his doorstep. She was small and pale with thick, black hair.

“What?”

“You _are_ Harry Potter, aren’t you?” she asked, rather imperiously. 

“Yes. Who is your father? Where’s your mother?”

“I don’t have a mother,” said the little girl, and shivered.

“Come inside,” said Harry decisively. The little girl cast the front door an awed look.

“Inside?”

“Yeah, I’ll get you a cup of tea—” the little girl made a face. “—or a hot chocolate, and you can tell me what’s happened to your dad before we go to the ministry.”

He unlocked the front door, and the girl followed him inside, conscientiously wiping her feet on the mat before entering. She looked around with hungry eyes, interested in everything, although her gaze most often rested on Harry himself. It wasn’t quite the same as the looks he was used to from people who admired him for his fame. He couldn’t put his finger on how it was different, but it was. Her large green eyes disconcerted him. He led her to the kitchen and set about making her a cup of hot chocolate. 

“What’s your name?” he asked her.

“Cassie.”

“And how old are you, Cassie?”

“Ten.”

Harry gave her the hot chocolate. 

“Thank you,” she said, but she looked disappointed. 

“Something the matter?”

“Father makes it with whipped cream,” she said. She grit her teeth and glared at the tabletop until the glossy sheen in her eyes had dissipated.

“What happened to him?”

“We were in the shop, and five men came in and threw stunning spells everywhere. They broke all the potions vials, all the stock!” She looked at Harry appealingly.

“Your dad runs a potions shop,” said Harry.

“Yes. So he hid me behind the counter and told me he loved me and then they put a black bag over his head and dragged him away. You have to help him!”

“But why did you come to _me?”_

“Because you’re an auror!”

“But you could have just called the aurors!”

“No, because the men who took him _were_ aurors!”

Harry put his head in his hands.

“So he wasn’t kidnapped,” he clarified. “He was arrested.”

“You have to help him,” said Cassie. “He’s innocent. And they had no right to attack us like that.”

“Doesn’t your dad have any friends you could stay with?” asked Harry, rather desperately. Cassie looked at him as if he was stupid. 

“Yes, but they’re not aurors. They can’t help Father get free.”

“Neither can I, Cassie.”

Cassie gave him a long, cool look that made him feel about three inches tall. Her eyes were really quite a brilliant green. 

“You could, if you wanted to.”

“I’m sorry your dad was arrested. Really, I am. But I can’t just break him out. That’s not how the law works. For all I know, he’s guilty.”

“He’s not!”

Harry was so tired. All he wanted was his glass of wine.

“How did you get my address?”

“It was in my father’s office. He writes you letters a few times a year and never sends them.”

Harry groaned.

“I wish more people would follow his lead.”

She cocked her head.

“You’re very famous and busy,” she said. 

“Yeah,” said Harry darkly. He sighed again. “Look, I’m sorry I can’t help with your dad. That must have been really scary for you. Are you all right?”

“Of course I’m not. My father has been kidnapped by the forces of justice!”

“They’re supposed to leave someone behind to take care of dependents,” said Harry.

“They tried,” said Cassie, “but I was too fast for them.”

“…you ran away?”

Cassie nodded. 

“I thought if I found you soon enough, you could catch them before they put Father in Azkaban.”

“They won’t do that until he’s had a trial,” said Harry.

“They won’t?”

“No,” said Harry, reassuringly. “He’ll be in a holding cell at the Ministry.”

“Near the Wizengamot,” guessed Cassie.

“No, it’s on the fifth floor, by the Auror training rooms. He’ll be comfortable. And he should get his trial within a couple of weeks. If he’s innocent, like you say, you’ll have your dad back in no time.”

Cassie smiled a strange, pointy, disturbingly _smug_ smile. 

“Well,” she said. “Thank you for your help, Mr. Potter. I’m sorry to have bothered you. Could I use your floo to go to my Aunt Pansy’s house?”

“I’ll take you there,” said Harry, who didn’t like the idea of sending adorable little girls off into fireplaces all by themselves. He held out a hand. She stared at it, then looked at him with a rather frightened expression before clasping it. 

“You have used floo powder before, haven’t you?” asked Harry.

“I’m _ten_ ,” she said coldly. “Of _course_ I have.”

“All right,” said Harry. “I was twelve, the first time I used it.”

She looked at him in surprise.

“ _Were_ you?”

Harry nodded.

“I didn’t know that,” she said softly. 

“Why would you?”

“It’s not in any of your interviews.”

“I guess it hasn’t come up.”

She leant gently into his body and Harry was seized by a startlingly strong desire to embrace her. She had stepped into the fireplace before he could consider this further, however. He followed her into the hearth. 

“Pansy Parkinson’s house,” she said. Harry’s heart sank. 

Pansy Parkinson _loathed_ him.

________

Malfoy really did sleep around, in eighth year. By the time Harry got to him, he had already slept with half the boys in the year, even the ones that Harry had always assumed were straight as a Roman road. Harry didn’t care; why should he care what Malfoy did with his body, when Harry was just using him to get off? 

Except that it niggled at him, a bit. He took to staring at the Marauder’s map, watching when Malfoy retreated into abandoned classrooms with various boys. Sometimes, Harry even followed him. Malfoy knew he did it, because Harry would make fun of Malfoy’s sex life while they fucked. 

“Terry Boot, Malfoy? Did he fill the void left in you by your father’s disapproval?”

“Shut up and go faster.”

“It’s pitiful, how you let everyone use you. Always have, haven’t you, Malfoy? First Voldemort, now every boy in the year—”

“Merlin, Potter, _shut up!”_

The more they slept together, the less Malfoy seemed to fight back, which infuriated Harry. He was so angry. He just wanted someone to be angry back. He became convinced that Malfoy was up to something, and when he spotted Malfoy and Pansy Parkinson engaged in some kind of heated argument, he slipped on his invisibility cloak and crept close to eavesdrop.

“…well, that’s convenient,” said Pansy.

“No, it fucking isn’t,” said Malfoy.

“Manipulate Potter into a relationship, become poster child for Evil Reformed, float through life basking in his reflected glory.”

“Brilliant,” said Malfoy. “Great plan, Pansy. I see no pitfalls there.”

Harry crept away again, feeling slightly sick. Of course even Malfoy wanted something from him. He wasn’t really surprised. Or he was, but not in the way he expected— he was surprisingly hurt. Which made no sense. He and Malfoy had just been fucking; Harry had always been clear about that. It was a ludicrous plan of Malfoy’s, anyway, to try and trick Harry into thinking there was anything but hate between them. 

Harry avoided Malfoy after that, even when Malfoy cast him puzzled looks at breakfast and in class.

____________

  
Harry and Cassie stepped out into a small, flowery sitting room. Pansy Parkinson shrieked the moment she saw Cassie. 

“Cassiopeia Lily Malfoy! How _dare_ you run away like that!”

“You didn’t say your father was _Malfoy!”_ said Harry.

“You!” said Pansy, spotting Harry. “What the fuck do you want?”

Harry cast an anxious glance at Cassie.

“Er, is it okay to swear in front of…?”

“Don’t you fucking _dare_ give _me_ parenting advice, Potter, you loathsome hypocrite!” 

Cassie rolled her eyes. 

“Be nice, Aunt Pansy,” she said. To Harry’s surprise, Pansy calmed down instantly. 

“Sorry, darling. I know how you feel about him.”

How Cassie felt about him? Harry knew that schoolchildren often hero-worshipped him, but Cassie hadn’t seemed the type, although she had mentioned reading his interviews. It was very funny to think that Draco Malfoy’s daughter was a Harry Potter fan. He imagined how much it must enrage Malfoy and had to repress a smile. 

“Right, well, I’d better go,” he said. 

“Yes, run away, Potter, you’re good at that.”

“As I recall, Parkinson, it wasn’t me trying to run away at the Battle of Hogwarts.”

Pansy looked at him as if he had gone mad. 

_“The Battle of Hogwarts?_ You think that’s relevant? Are you serious?”

“Yeah, I’d say the war is still pretty relevant to my life, given that— you know what? Forget it. Cassie, it was nice to meet you.”

Cassie drew her lips together sharply. 

“It was?”

“Of course. I’m sorry about your father. I’m sure his parents will get him a good lawyer and he’ll be free in no time.”

Pansy huffed derisively.

“Oh, get the hell out, Potter.”

  
Back at Grimmauld Place, Harry poured himself the longed-for glass of wine. Something wasn’t right. For one thing, he didn’t know why the Slytherins still hated him so much. Pansy and Blaise and Millicent all worked at the Ministry, and they were perfectly cordial to the other Gryffindors. Ron and Blaise even flew together sometimes at weekends. But all three Slytherins were consistently cold and impolite to Harry. He had raged about it at first, thinking they hated him because he represented wizard-muggle relations and house elf freedom and everything else the war had been fought for. But then he and Hermione ran into Pansy at the pub, and she was perfectly lovely to Hermione. It was just Harry she was still rude to. 

And how had Malfoy even had a kid, anyway? If Cassie was ten, it must have happened just after their eighth year at Hogwarts, and Harry didn’t remember him ever showing the slightest interest in women. Perhaps Pansy had volunteered to have his child, Merlin knew it must have been someone dark-haired for Cassie to end up with hair like that. And why had Cassie come to _him?_ And why did Malfoy write him letters, only to never send them? 

For years, Harry had very, very consciously not thought about Malfoy. Whenever Malfoy popped up in his mind—which was uncomfortably often—Harry turned away from the thought. At first, he thought he didn’t like thinking about Malfoy because he was ashamed, not only of having slept with a Death Eater, but of having _liked_ it so much. So much that no one else really compared, even years later. Eventually, he’d come to realise that he avoided thinking about Malfoy because he knew he’d been a dick to him, made Malfoy feel worthless and small. At the time, Harry had been so outraged at the thought of Malfoy plotting to date him for social prestige that he felt justified in being cruel to him. Now that he was older, he regretted the cruelty with which he had rejected him.

  
_______

Harry should have known Malfoy wouldn’t give up on his plan so easily. He was on his way to the library when Malfoy ducked out of a an alcove and dragged him behind the statue of Borg the Brainless. 

“What the fuck, Malfoy?”

“I have to tell you something.”

“Oh, give it a rest, Malfoy, I heard you talking to Pansy Parkinson.”

Malfoy’s pale face drained of colour.

“You… you did? You know?”

“Yes,” said Harry. “And you’re crazy if you think I’d ever be with you.”

Malfoy frowned.

“Not _be_ with me, but I thought—”

“What? That this would change anything? You’re still a fucking Death Eater, Malfoy. I don’t want anything to do with you. I only shagged you because you were easy.”

Malfoy stared at him.

“So… so that’s it, then? You won’t help? Because my parents won’t either, and I…”

“Dumbledore offered to help you, and you turned him down,” said Harry coldly. Something churned in his stomach at Malfoy’s crushed expression. It was reassuring to feel something that wasn’t anger for once, even though it was equally unpleasant. Guilt? Was it guilt? But Harry didn’t owe Draco anything, certainly didn’t owe him help rehabilitating his reputation. He didn’t even know if Malfoy had changed since the war.

“Right,” said Malfoy. “I thought…” he grimaced. “But I guess it’s _me_ , isn’t it, so. Fine. I won’t bother you again.”

After that, it was like Malfoy disappeared. They had just finished exams, and it wasn’t unusual for students to leave school early. Harry figured that was what he had done. He didn’t think about it too much, although he did find himself… _missing_ Malfoy. Missing fighting with him. Missing his body. Missing the way Malfoy would catch his eye across the great hall and smirk. 

After Hogwarts, Harry saw a mind healer. He started getting some sleep. He processed all the grief, all the guilt. He started feeling more like himself again, and he tried to forget about Draco Malfoy. 

___________

He was just pouring himself another glass of wine when the Auror Department firecalled him. 

“There’s been a break-in!” said Kinloch, sounding panicked. “Come quick—”

“I’ll be right there!” said Harry.

The Auror department was in total chaos. He could hear the shouting all the way from the apparition point. 

“Have you gone quite mad? What on earth have I ever said, to make you believe this would be a good idea?” 

Malfoy’s voice was crisp and furious. It lodged itself in Harry’s chest.

“If you had just _listened_ to me, we’d be in France by now!” shouted Cassie. “Put me down. Unhand me!”  
  
Harry hurried into the auror office. Kinloch held Cassie’s arms firmly behind her back, and Spooner was handcuffing Malfoy to a radiator. Both Kinloch and Spooner’s eyes were red and streaming. Harry could smell the remains of a sort of homemade tear gas. 

Malfoy shook his pale blond hair out his face, glowering at his daughter.

“What part of _keep your head down_ do you not understand?”

“The part where people do bad things to you and get away with it!” 

“Potter, thank God,” said Kinloch. “This little brat just tried to break Malfoy out of his holding cell!”

Cassie and Malfoy both swivelled to look at him. Cassie may have had dark colouring, but her features were all Malfoy’s. They looked beautiful together. Their cheeks were flushed in exactly the same way. Harry remembered how Malfoy’s cheeks and ears would turn suddenly pink when he was angry. He wasn’t prepared for what it do to him to recognise that same trait in Cassie. 

“Potter,” said Malfoy tersely, with a swift glance at Cassie. “Everything all right, Cass?”

Cassie made a strange, half-formed expression. Malfoy nodded, as if he understood exactly what she meant. 

“You’re hurting her, Kinloch,” said Harry. Kinloch loosened his grip on Cassie, who instantly broke free and rushed to Malfoy. 

“Grab her—” said Kinloch. Spooner picked her up and threw her over his shoulder. 

“I’m afraid you’ll have to put these back on me,” said Malfoy drily, waving his wrists. Cassie had somehow managed to pick the lock on his handcuffs in the few seconds before Spooner had seized her.  
  
“You’re a Death Eater in the making, aren’t you, you little bi—” said Kinloch.

“She is _ten years old,”_ said Harry, sharply. “If she’s getting the best of two fully trained aurors, that’s your problem, not hers. Let her down, Spooner.”

“She keeps escaping,” complained Spooner. 

“It’s late. She’s a little girl. She ought to be in bed,” said Harry.

“I didn’t put her up to this,” said Malfoy, quickly. 

Spooner dropped Cassie on the floor. She dusted herself off and looked defiantly at Harry. 

“Are you going to arrest me, Mr. Potter?”

Malfoy made a small sound, somewhere between a laugh and a groan.

“No,” said Harry. “I’m taking you to your Aunt Pansy’s, and you’re staying there. Do you understand?”

Cassie glared obstinately for a moment, then cut her eyes away and nodded, defeated.

“I’ll be back. I have some questions about Malfoy’s case,” said Harry.

“Cassie,” said Malfoy. Cassie turned to look at him, eyes bright. Malfoy didn’t say anything else, he just looked at her intently. After a few seconds she nodded, and he pursed his lips. Then suddenly, they both burst out laughing. It was as if they had had an entire conversation in silence, and come to an agreement. Harry watched the interaction with a perplexing sense of grief. 

Cassie saluted Malfoy.

“At ease, soldier,” he said. She grinned and turned to Harry.

“All right. I’ll go to Aunt Pansy’s now.”

She followed him out of the auror department. 

“You asked me about where he was being kept so that you could break him out,” said Harry.

“Well, you weren’t going to help.”

“What was the plan? A life on the run?”

“They smashed all the potions in the shop. They put a bag over his head. He’s _innocent_. He’s my _father_. What would you have done?”

Harry struggled to speak, tried to catch his breath. There was something about Cassie that made his chest hurt.

“I…I would have done the same.”

She bit at the edge of her thumb. 

“You’re reckless,” she said.

“Yeah.”

They had reached the Floo network. 

“Father always says I’m braver than I am clever.”

Harry frowned.

“That’s not a very nice thing to say.”

“Hermione Granger is braver than she is clever,” said Cassie. “Isn’t she?”

“Yeah, I guess so.” He took her little hand in his and stepped into the fireplace.

Pansy Parkinson was even less pleased to see Harry than before. 

“Back so soon, Potter? Showing an awful lot of interest, all of a sudden, aren’t you?”

“Will I see you again?” asked Cassie. Her eyes were wide and appealing, her eyelashes long and dark. 

“I doubt your dad would like that.”

Cassie tilted her head, confused.

“He’s always wanted you to spend time with me,” she said. _What?_ Harry supposed it made sense. Cassie doubtlessly suffered from being a Malfoy. Malfoy probably thought it would do her good to be photographed in the papers with Harry Potter from time to time.

“Okay, then,” said Harry. “When your dad’s free, I’ll arrange to take you to the zoo or something.”

“The zoo! That’s for babies,” said Cassie. “I want to go to the Imperial War Museum.”

Harry laughed. 

“Right, fine, we’ll do that,” he said. 

“Promise,” said Cassie.

“I promise,” said Harry.

Cassie smiled shyly and tucked her hair behind her ear.

“Because you like me,” she said.

“Er, yes.”

“Father always said you’d like me, if you met me.”

Harry stared at her, baffled. 

“Just how often does your father talk about me?”

“Cassiopeia, go to the kitchen,” said Pansy. “I will deal with you in a minute. You are in serious trouble.”

Cassie looked appropriately cowed, and scampered out of the room, pausing to wave at Harry before disappearing. 

When they were alone, Pansy turned to Harry. Her face was twisted with hatred.

“You had better come through on that promise, Potter. If you break her heart, I swear to God…!”

“Jesus, chill out, I’ll take the kid to a museum!”

Pansy shook her head, her lips curling into a loathing sneer.

“Draco may tolerate you, but I absolutely cannot. Please leave.”

Harry flooed back to the auror department, determined to get some answers out of Malfoy. 


	2. Chapter 2

  
Malfoy was lying on the wire cot in his holding cell. He sat up when Harry entered. 

“Potter,” he said, cautiously.

Harry hovered near the door. He hadn’t seen Malfoy in over ten years. It seemed unfair that Malfoy had got dramatically better-looking in the interim, when he was already too handsome to begin with.

“What are you in for?” asked Harry.

Malfoy sighed and leant back against the wall.

“Illegal potions trafficking, apparently.”

“You didn’t do it?”

“You think I’d risk Azkaban? When I’m Cassie’s sole guardian? Fuck you.”

“Wrongly accused. Got it.”

Malfoy glared at him, then put his head in his hands.

“What did you think of Cassie?” he asked.

“Never would have thought _you’d_ have a kid I’d like,” said Harry. 

“But you liked her. I knew you would, if you met her.”

This was getting closer to the nub of the problem. The thing that had been making Harry feel so strange and uncomfortable, since the first moment Cassie had appeared on his doorstep.

“Why do you care so much if I like her?”

Malfoy sat up as if he’d been hit.

“What the hell is wrong with you?” he asked. “With everyone else you’re some kind of angel among men, but when it comes to me, you just…” He shook his head, burying his face in his hands again. “Fuck.”

Harry didn’t know what to say. The whole evening had been surreal and confusing. It seemed to follow dream logic, and Harry didn’t know what to think. 

“I’m sorry,” he said. “For how harsh I was, the last time we spoke.”

Malfoy laughed quietly. 

“The _way_ you said it is really besides the point, Potter. And I notice you’re not apologising for your decision, only the phrasing.”

“Oh, fucking hell, you’re not actually still angry that I wouldn’t be your boyfriend when we were eighteen, are you?”

“No,” said Malfoy, “I’m angry that you abandoned me and Cassie, when I was eighteen.”

Something cold stirred in Harry. A feeling that his muggle upbringing was about to have cost him dreadfully.

“I…” he spoke delicately, fearfully. “I abandoned… Cassie?”

She had such green eyes. 

“I didn’t expect you to, I don’t know, play house with us, but Merlin, you could have… you could have visited once or twice… or sent her a birthday card, if her Death Eater heritage was too loathsome for you to face… God, Harry, I mean, she’s your _daughter_ …!”

“What?” croaked Harry, his whole world crashing. 

“I get why you wouldn’t want to own to her publicly, I get what that would do to your reputation, I do, but to ignore her completely…! It was just so callous, and I don’t understand it, because you were never callous, it was something I lov— you weren’t callous, never, only ever to me, and I…”

“Malfoy,” said Harry. “I didn’t know.”

Malfoy lifted his head from his hands.

“Excuse me?” he said, his voice icy.

“Why didn’t you _tell_ me?”

Now Malfoy looked so furious that Harry instinctively reached for his wand.

“I _did_ tell you. And do you remember what you said? Because I do. I’ve never forgotten. You said that I was still a fucking Death Eater, that you didn’t want anything to do with me, and that you’d only shagged me because I was easy. You said if I wanted help I should have taken it when Dumbledore offered.”

Harry shook his head.

“No, no, Malfoy, that… I overheard you and Pansy… she said that you should date me to improve your social standing…I was _angry_ … oh, God…!”

“You really didn’t know?” Malfoy’s voice changed. It sounded rather choked. Harry shook his head violently.

“I swear I didn’t. I would never have let her go,” said Harry. He kept thinking of Cassie’s eyes. He thought he was the only person living with his mother’s eyes. He thought he was the last of his family. And after he’d realised he was gay, he’d accepted the fact that he wouldn’t have kids. “Her middle name is Lily,” he said, realising.

Malfoy nodded.

“I wanted her to have some connection to you, even if…”

“Thank you,” said Harry. His throat felt dry.

Malfoy’s shoulder’s jerked, but he didn’t reply.

“I didn’t know wizards could get pregnant,” said Harry.

“It’s rare. Only happens under a special set of circumstances. And if the wizard’s blood is really fucking pure.”

“I had no idea.”

Malfoy lay down on his wire cot. Harry wanted to sit beside him, but he didn’t know Malfoy anymore. He’d never known him, really. 

“So, you want her after all,” said Malfoy. “And I’m in prison.”

“It’s a holding cell,” said Harry, vaguely.

“Convenient time for you to sweep her away and take full custody.”

“Ten seconds ago you thought I hated her because she was related to Death Eaters, now you think I’m trying to steal her from you?”

Malfoy turned to face the wall. 

“Malfoy,” said Harry, gently, and he realised that he had never spoken gently to Malfoy before. Malfoy had been soft with him, sometimes, after sex, but Harry never had. “Malfoy, I’m not going to take her away from you. But I do want to be involved. I want to get to know her.”

“She’s a menace,” said Malfoy, brokenly. “A total nightmare.” He paused. “She’s like you.”

Harry hesitantly perched on the edge of the cot. 

“That’s funny,” he said. “She reminded me so much of you.” _Clever and beautiful_ , he didn’t add.

“Ha, ha,” said Malfoy weakly. He sat up. “Right. Well, this is good, this is very good. Absolutely splendid. I’m in prison—”

“It’s a holding cell.”

“—yes, quite, and you’re a beloved national treasure, so it’s no contest, really. You can distract Cass from any anxieties this whole affair might cause her. Marvellous. I’m afraid you’re going to become extremely familiar with the Imperial War Museum. I’ve tried to get her interested in less militaristic pursuits, but it’s a no go.”

“Maybe I should wait until you’re free to spend time with her,” said Harry, because Malfoy couldn’t seem to look at him. “Would that make you feel better about it?”

“Yes, but it’s what would make _her_ feel better that counts, isn’t it? Anyway, I haven’t got your charming optimism re: escaping the clutches of the law. I rather think this may be it for Draco Malfoy as a free man. They didn’t get me last time— thanks, by the way— but they won’t let me slither free now.”

“Who’s representing you?”

Malfoy shrugged.

“I don’t know, I haven’t been assigned anyone yet.”

“Surely your parents will hire someone good.”

Malfoy peered at him.

“You really haven’t thought about me once in ten years, have you?”  
“I…”

“My parents disinherited me ages ago. I think they’re leaving all their money to a dog charity. I’m not sure what will happen to the manor. Dog hospital, maybe? They’ve become very keen on dogs, I gather. In any case, they’ve taken pains to ensure no child of _yours_ ever lays a finger on the Malfoy gold.”

“They didn’t help you?” asked Harry, remembering eighteen-year-old Draco, so desperate and fragile, seeking _something_ from all the men he took to bed, even if he didn’t know what. 

“I don’t need help,” said Malfoy stiffly.

“Well, I’m going to hire you the best lawyer money can buy. Don’t argue.”

Malfoy put his hands up.

“No argument. I’ll never complain about you spending money on me.”

“Does Cassie need anything?”

Malfoy looked at his knees for a long time before answering.

“Just you,” he said. “She needs you.”

  
Malfoy wrote a note for Harry to give Pansy.

“She won’t let you near Cass, otherwise.”

“She’s been very involved, then?”

“I don’t know what I would have done, without Pansy and Blaise.”

“I’m sorry, Malfoy.”

Malfoy laughed quietly.

“I think I’m dreaming,” he said. 

“If I’d just been a bit more understanding, back in eighth year… if I’d let you get a word in…”

“Maybe it wouldn’t have made a difference. You were pretty fucked up.”

Harry was taken aback.

“You knew?”

“Knew what?”

“That I was fucked up? I didn’t think you would have noticed.”

Malfoy shrugged.

“You were cruel. It wasn’t you. Of course I noticed.”

  
The next morning, Harry returned to Pansy’s house. 

“What the fuck are you doing here again, Potter?” said Pansy, at the same time as Cassie cried, “Mr. Potter!”

“Don’t call me that,” said Harry, handing Pansy the letter Malfoy had written. Pansy glared at him and unfolded it.

“What should I call you instead?” asked Cassie uncertainly.

“Er. I would have called my dad “dad”, if I had known him.”

Cassie’s whole face lit up.

“Okay,” she said. “Dad.”

Harry grinned at her stupidly. 

“You _didn’t know?”_ said Pansy, finishing Malfoy’s letter. 

“No,” said Harry. He couldn’t take his eyes off Cassie. “Cassie, there was a misunderstanding between your father and me, when you were born. I didn’t know about you. I didn’t even know wizards could get pregnant. If I’d known, I’d have been there every second.”

Cassie frowned.

“But you’re so famous and busy,” she said. “You were too busy to take care of me.”

Harry shook his head.

“No,” he said. “I would never be too busy for you. I didn’t know about you. Not even when I met you yesterday.”

“You didn’t know? Yesterday, you didn’t know?”

“No,” said Harry.

“But you liked me?”

“Very much,” said Harry.

“And… what about now?” she asked, in a small voice.

“Now you’re the most wonderful thing that’s ever happened to me,” he said, crouching down to be at her eye level. 

“Oh,” she said.

“I’d really, really like to get to know you. Would that be all right with you?”

Cassie nodded, her eyes wide. 

“Okay then, that’s settled. Can I take you out today?”

“Aunt Pansy?”

“Yes, fine,” said Pansy faintly. Harry straightened up.

“I’ve hired Hermione to represent Malfoy. She says there’s no case against him. He’ll be out in no time.”

“Right,” said Pansy. 

“Pansy,” said Harry. She looked up. “Thank you. Malfoy says you’ve been a great help.”

“He didn’t have anyone,” said Pansy. She looked as if she was about to be sick. “He was all alone.”

“I wish I had known,” said Harry.

“You really fucked him up,” said Pansy.

“Leave him alone, Aunt Pansy,” said Cassie. “Dad, have you ever been to the Imperial War Museum?”


	3. Chapter 3

Over the next week, Harry left work early every day so that he could pick Cassie up from her muggle state school. 

“Usually when I come home, I do two more hours of school with Father _every day_ , even on weekends,” she said. “He’s a slave-driver.”

“What does he teach you?”

“Potions and History of Magic and Latin and French and magical groundwork for Charms and Transfiguration.”

“Blimey.”

“He was homeschooled by his mother when he was my age, so he’s worried I’ll be a dunce when I get to Hogwarts.”

“Doesn’t seem likely.”

“No,” agreed Cassie. “I’m very clever. But you know Father, he always wants to be the best. So he wants me to be the best, too.”

“Sounds like a lot of pressure,” said Harry. “I just want you to be happy.”

Cassie gave him a funny look. 

“You can’t _aim_ for happiness,” she said. “Happiness is a side effect. Father and I studied that in class. Clotworthy Skeffington, the Minister for Magic in the 1640s, _he_ tried to be happy, and look what happened to him!”

Harry stared at her. _You can’t aim for happiness_. He realised that it was exactly what he had been doing, since Hogwarts: trying desperately to be happy.

“What _did_ happen to him?”

“He spontaneously combusted,” said Cassie.

“Right. So what are you supposed to aim for instead?” he asked.

“To be good,” said Cassie. “Happiness is a side effect of goodness. That’s what Clotworthy’s son, Clotbaffle, discovered. Honestly, Dad, did you not listen in History of Magic?”

“I don’t think they taught us about Clotworthy Skeffington at Hogwarts.”

“Hmm,” said Cassie thoughtfully. “I guess you’re right, because otherwise Father wouldn’t have joined the Death Eaters. Unless he thought they were good, I suppose.”

Harry quickly changed the subject. Whenever he remembered Malfoy’s past, it was harder for him to make his peace with everything. 

Malfoy hadn’t lied when he said that Harry would soon become intimately familiar with the Imperial War Museum. Cassie rarely seemed to want to go anywhere else. She liked the trenches in the WWI exhibit, and the planes in the WWII exhibit. She knew the names of all the ranks in the British Army.

“Wizards don’t have armies,” she explained to Harry.

“I don’t understand. Why are you so into wars?”

Cassie looked at him as if he was an idiot. It was a very Malfoyish expression. 

“Because my parents fell in love through a war, obviously.” 

Harry did not correct her. 

“The Second Wizarding War wasn’t really like the world wars, though,” he said.

“No,” said Cassie. “Father says it was more like the Spanish Civil War.” 

“Does he talk about war much?”

“He talks about what _you_ did, all the time.”

Harry frowned, pausing in front of a glass case explaining about rationing. 

“Why?”

Cassie shrugged.

“He’s proud of you,” she said. 

Harry grimaced and moved on. 

“What about his own actions in the war? Does he talk about that?”

“No,” said Cassie. “Never. But I’ve picked up on it from people who come into the shop. I think it’s so romantic, that you fell in love despite being on opposite sides! Like Romeo and Juliet. Do you have a boyfriend or girlfriend, now? The newspapers don’t say.”

“Cassie…”

“Oh, all right,” she said. “Look! You can try on the officers’ jackets, here!”

  
That evening, he went to visit Malfoy, who had been in the holding cell for a week now, and was looking rather the worse for wear. Hermione had been twice, but Harry still had not told her about Cassie. 

“Why did you tell Cassie that we were in love?” he asked Malfoy.

“Would you prefer I told her the truth? ‘Your dad was a drunken mess and fucked me as an act of self-hatred’?”

“It wasn’t self-hatred,” said Harry, uncomfortably.

“I told her what I had to, so that she would have faith in you,” said Malfoy. 

“But… why? Why wouldn’t you just throw me under the bus?”

Malfoy crossed his arms, looking annoyed.

“You weren’t there, either way. Why not give her someone noble to idolise? God knows she couldn’t look up to me.”

“That’s not true,” said Harry. “She looks up to you.” 

Malfoy gave a bark of laughter.

“She does _not_. God, she’s a monster. I miss her like crazy.”

But Malfoy was wrong. Cassie talked about him constantly. She told Harry elaborate stories from Wizarding history that Malfoy had taught her. She flicked rubber bands at Harry when he put his elbows on the table. (“That’s what Father does to me when I chew with my mouth open. He does it to people at restaurants, too. They never catch him.”) She never said anything exactly _nice_ about Malfoy— she called him a tyrant and a dictator and a cruel oppressor of children the world over. But she always smiled when she spoke about him, or else grew still and quiet, shaking her hair in front of her face so that Harry couldn’t see her expression. 

The day after he’d visited Malfoy, she did this. Harry mentioned seeing him the night before, and she folded her hands carefully in her lap, her little face tightening.

“He’ll be out soon,” Harry told her. She nodded.

“I can take you to visit him, if you want,” said Harry.

“Really?”

“Of course,” said Harry. 

Technically, criminals awaiting trial weren’t allowed visitors, but Harry was Harry, so he could pretty much do what he wanted, although Spooner insisted that Harry remain in the holding cell throughout Cassie’s visit. 

Malfoy clearly hadn’t been sleeping, and his clothes looked distinctly rumpled. He stood up straight when Cassie and Harry entered. Neither he nor Cassie moved for a moment, staring at each other.

“You look terrible,” said Cassie.

“Thanks, Cass. Just wait till puberty, I’ll get you back.”

“I’ll be fine. I’ve seen pictures of you when you were fifteen, you were handsome.”

“Yes,” said Malfoy, “but Harry was hideous.”

“Hey!”

Cassie grinned and took a step forward. Malfoy did too, but they still had not touched. Harry got the impression they felt uncomfortable with him watching. 

“How’s Aunt Pansy?” asked Malfoy.

“I threatened to call child services on her this morning.”

“One of your less amusing pranks.”

“She threatened no dessert for a week.”

“Quite right.” He tilted his head. _“Comment vas tu vraiment?”_

 _“Tu me manques tout le temps,”_ said Cassie. 

“Are you speaking French to each other?” Harry asked. They ignored him.

 _“Tu me manques aussi. Tellement,”_ said Malfoy. Cassie nodded. 

“I know,” she said.

“Are you behaving yourself for Harry?”

“Much better than I ever behave with you,” said Cassie. _“Parce que je ne sais pas s’il m’aime.”_

“He does, Cass.”

“What did you just say about me? Cassie?” pressed Harry.

“Dad says you’ll be getting out soon,” said Cassie.

“‘Dad’ now, is he?” said Malfoy.

“Don’t be jealous,” said Cassie.

“Seriously, what did she say about me?” asked Harry.

“You should have listened in French class,” said Malfoy. “Then you would know.”

“I didn’t have French class!”

 _“Je t’aime,”_ Malfoy told Cassie, his voice soft. Harry didn’t need to speak French to know what he was saying. Cassie took another quick step forward and wrapped her arms around Malfoy’s waist. Malfoy put his hands on her head. “Even if you are a little monster.”

“You raised me,” she said. 

“Oh, I know. Blind leading the blind. Brats leading brats.”

Cassie stepped away, hurriedly wiping her eyes. 

“If you’d just stop committing crimes already…!” she said.

Malfoy’s smile dropped from his face.

“Don’t joke, Cass. Not here. Not in front of Potter.”

Cassie cast a quick glance at Harry. 

_“Il pense que t’es coupable?”_ she asked. 

Harry swore under his breath. Trust Malfoy to have raised a secretive, bilingual daughter. 

Malfoy made a non-committal gesture.

“Unclear,” he said. “Remains to be seen.”

“Okay,” she said. The look she threw at Harry was less than friendly. 

“Cassie,” said Malfoy warningly. “Don’t pry. And don’t, for the love of God, attempt to enact revenge.” Malfoy looked at Harry. “Is vengefulness a Potter trait?”

“No,” said Harry. “Think that one’s on you, mate.”

“Dad’s spoiling me rotten,” Cassie told Malfoy. “If you don’t come back soon I’m going to be awful.”

“Potter! Spare the rod and spoil the child!”

Harry gaped at him.

“You… you beat her?”

Malfoy laughed, but Cassie looked furious. 

“No, Potter,” said Malfoy. “I don’t beat my ten-year-old daughter.”

“ _Our_ ten-year-old daughter.”

Malfoy swallowed.

“Yes.”

 _“Il n’a pas confiance en toi,”_ said Cassie.

“Darling…”

“I can’t believe this,” said Cassie.

“Is everything okay?” asked Harry.

Malfoy looked quickly between Harry and Cassie.

“I think you should go,” he said. “Cass, don’t make a scene.”

 _“Il est comme tous les autres,”_ said Cassie, throwing Harry a poisonous look.

“No, he isn’t. Give him a chance.”

“What did I do?” asked Harry, because it was clear that somewhere along the way, he had mortally offended Cassie. Malfoy chuckled.

“Oh, I’m sure she’ll tell you.” He turned to Cassie. “Goodbye, monster.”

“Goodbye, tyrant.” 

They didn’t hug. They merely bowed their heads at each other, as if recognising worthy opponents. _Fucking weird,_ thought Harry, at the same time as he felt strange, affectionate jealousy, mixed with apprehension about the thunderous expression on Cassie’s face.

Cassie turned on her heel.

“Come on, Potter,” she called, reminding Harry so much of teenage Malfoy that his heart lurched.

“Don’t call me that,” he said. 

Cassie didn’t answer. 

“Told you,” said Malfoy quietly, from the cot. He had already sunk into it, looking miserable. “She’s a little horror.”

Harry started for the door.

“Harry,” said Malfoy. Harry turned around. “Don’t bring her back here.”

“She misses you.”

“I hated visiting my father in prison. Just… please.”

Harry was struck with guilt that he hadn’t checked with Malfoy before he brought Cassie to visit. Malfoy was fiddling nervously with the edges of his rumpled shirtsleeves.

“Yeah, okay,” said Harry. “Sorry.”

Cassie did not take long to explain herself. The moment they arrived back at Pansy’s, she fixed Harry with a furious glare. 

“You think he’s guilty,” she said.

“What?”

“You don’t trust Father.”

“I barely know him!”

“But you were in love!”

Harry sighed and rubbed the back of his neck. 

“It’s complicated.”

Cassie’s nostrils flared. Harry could tell she was trying not to cry.

“You think, because he was a Death Eater, that he’s a bad person,” she said.

“No. But the war was a big part of my life, Cassie. You can’t expect me to forget that he fought on the wrong side. And he wasn’t exactly nice to me in school.”

“He’s not nice to anyone! He’s not _nice!”_

“Cassie,” said Harry desperately, “what, exactly, is upsetting you so much? I’m doing everything I can to get Malfoy out of prison—”

 _“I’m_ Malfoy,” said Cassie. “That’s my name, too.”

Harry ran his hand through his hair.

“Right. Good point. Sorry.”

“So many people don’t trust Father,” said Cassie quietly. “I just thought you would be different.”

Harry pulled her into his arms. She was stiff at first, but then she relaxed quite suddenly into him, and he sat with her on the sofa, holding her close. He couldn’t reassure her, couldn’t tell her that he trusted Malfoy when he didn’t. Draco. He suddenly imagined someone calling Cassie “Malfoy” with all the vitriol he used to throw at Draco and felt deeply saddened.

“This is a tough situation, for everyone,” said Harry. “But we’re going to figure it out, okay?”

Cassie nodded and stood, calm and collected. 

“Thank you for taking me to visit him,” she said, and Harry had the feeling that her politeness was a bad sign. What had she said to Malfoy? She behaved much better around Harry _“Parce que je ne sais pas s’il m’aime.”_

When he got home, he looked up the words with a translation spell. It meant _“Because I don’t know if he loves me.”_


	4. Chapter 4

At work the next day, he couldn’t focus. Draco was only a few doors down. At lunchtime, he slipped on his invisibility cloak and sneaked into Draco’s cell.

“Who’s there?” said Draco, his voice strained and frightened. 

“It’s just me,” said Harry, taking off his cloak.

“Fuck me, Potter, I thought you were someone coming to assassinate me!”

“No one’s going to assassinate you.”

Draco laughed unhappily.

“No, of course not,” he said. “Not Draco the Well-Loved, Friend of the Wizarding People.”

“Sandwich?”

“Thanks.” 

Draco took the ham sandwich and wolfed it down. Harry wondered what they were feeding him. 

“Cassie thinks I don’t love her,” said Harry.

“Your French is improving.” 

“I haven’t told her I do, yet.”

“I’m not sure it would help,” said Draco. “She’s not like me; doesn’t care all that much about verbal affirmation.”

Harry looked at him in surprise.

“You?”

Draco flushed and glanced away.

“I go a bit weak for praise.” His face hardened. “Yes, Potter, because my father never gave me any. Can we move on?”

Harry blinked a few times. Draco’s ears were pink, which was generally a good sign that he should change the subject.

“I will tell her I love her,” said Harry. “I just didn’t want to freak her out.”

“You won’t,” said Draco, sounding bored. 

“Well. Good.”

“Granger’s been by a few times. Thanks for that.”

“She’s the best lawyer in Britain,” said Harry. “And if you call her a mudblood and she quits, I’m not hiring another one.”

Draco clenched his jaw.

“Your high opinion of me aside, you still haven’t told her about Cassie.”

“Haven’t had a chance to, yet,” said Harry. Draco plucked cobwebs off his robes.

“Cassie’s scared that you’re ashamed of her,” he said. “I’ve always tried to convince her you’re not, but until recently the facts weren’t exactly on my side.”

“I’m not ashamed of her,” said Harry, his stomach twisting.

“Of me, then, which to Cassie amounts to more or less the same thing.”

“I’m not… I’m not ashamed of you,” said Harry, half-heartedly. 

“Merlin, don’t hurt yourself. Are you planning on telling anyone about her?”

“Of course!”

“Sooner the better, then.”

“I was going to wait till you were free. I thought it would make you more comfortable.”

Draco gave him a puzzled look.

“You realise that you _can’t_ make this comfortable for me? Anyway, you’ll hurt Cass’ feelings if you wait.”

“Right. Okay. I’ll introduce her to Ron and Hermione.”

Draco shifted unhappily, drawing his arms around his slender body.

“Weasley won’t be… prejudiced… against her?”

“If he says anything I’ll fucking hex his eyes out.”

Draco nodded, opened his mouth, then closed it again.

“What?” asked Harry.

“I’m saying this to be helpful,” said Draco. He spoke hesitantly. “Cassie is quite… loyal. To me. She’ll have a hard time forgiving anyone who vocally disapproves of me. So. If you want her to like your little friends…”

“We’re not going to bitch about you in front of her, Malfoy,” said Harry. “That would be a shitty thing to do.”

Draco looked at him with an unreadable expression.

“Right,” he said. “Best do it in private.”

Harry picked up his invisibility cloak and swung it over himself.

“I really appreciate your advice,” he said. “Thank you.”

“Anytime,” said Draco vaguely, and Harry left him alone in his cell.

That night, Harry went to Ron and Hermione’s for dinner. He managed to ask questions about their lives, and not let on that his whole world had been upturned, until dessert. 

“I had sex with Draco Malfoy in eighth year,” he announced.

Ron wrinkled his nose.

“If you’re telling us because you feel guilty for keeping secrets, please don’t.”

“I did wonder why you wanted me to help him,” said Hermione. “That makes a lot of sense, if you were once lovers.”

“We weren’t—it wasn’t like that. I was pretty vile to him, actually. You know how I was in eighth year,” he said, feeling his face get hot. He tried not to bring eighth year up. Ron punching him. Hermione crying. General Harry-dickishness. 

“You feel guilty,” said Hermione.

“Yes. No. I—he got pregnant.”

“Did he _really?”_ asked Hermione, excited. “That’s really rare! I mean, it only happens to the _most_ pureblood wizards, and the circumstances have to be just right—” She trailed off. “Oh,” she said. “Poor Malfoy.”

“Hang on,” said Ron. “Pregnant with _your_ kid?”

“Yeah,” said Harry. 

“Are you sure? Malfoy was sleeping with anything that moved that year, remember?”

Hermione shook her head.

“No, wizards can only conceive if… well, suffice to say, if Malfoy said it was Harry’s, it was.”

“And I’ve met her,” said Harry. “She’s mine, all right. Her name is Cassie. Cassiopeia Lily.”

“Lily,” said Hermione.

“Yeah, I know,” said Harry. “She has her eyes. My eyes, I mean.”

“Why the fuck didn’t Malfoy _tell_ you?” asked Ron.

If Cassie were there, she would have flicked a rubber band at Harry by now, because he was definitely playing with his food. He didn’t want to meet Hermione’s eyes. 

“Oh, Harry, _did_ he tell you?” she asked.

“He tried,” said Harry heavily. “I thought he was talking about something else, and I told him to fuck off, basically.”

“And he just gave up? Just like that? That’s pretty bloody selfish of him,” said Ron.

This thought had crossed Harry’s mind, too, but he shook it away.

“The things I said… I’m sure he thought I’d… already spoken my piece.” He frowned at the table.

“He probably just didn’t want to be linked to you, mate. I mean, you’ve got to be the last person the Malfoys would want in their gene pool.”

“They disinherited him,” said Harry. 

“Poor Malfoy,” said Hermione again. 

“Poor _Harry_ ,” said Ron. “Tied to Malfoy for life!”

“It’s not so bad,” said Harry, awkwardly. “He’s been really fucking decent about it, so far, actually. I just want him to get out of prison already. It’s so hard on Cassie.”

“It’s an outrage, what happened to him,” said Hermione. “They didn’t have a shred of evidence, and now they’re trying to postpone the trial. It’s pure spite, that’s all it is.”

“How has he been with you, Hermione?” asked Harry. 

“A bit prickly. I think he’s scared. What’s Cassie like?”

“Amazing,” said Harry dreamily. “Bloody amazing. I can’t wait for you to meet her.”

“What did Malfoy tell her about why you weren’t there all her life?” asked Hermione.

“Just that I was too busy to have a kid.”

“He certainly seems to dote on her. He talks about her constantly,” said Hermione.

“Yeah, they’re really close,” said Harry. Hermione put her hand on his.

“You’ll get there eventually, Harry.”

Harry nodded, but couldn’t answer. 

  
“I love you,” he told Cassie, as they stared at the WWI planes. 

She glanced at him in surprise.

“We’re in public,” she said. 

“Yeah. I love you publicly.”

“Did you know that the RAC was incredibly dangerous, in WWI? Just because the planes were badly made.”

“You don’t have to behave well around me. You can be as bratty as you like, it won’t stop me loving you,” said Harry. 

“You’re making a scene,” said Cassie. Harry remembered what Draco had said— that words didn’t move her.  
  
“Ron and Hermione can’t wait to meet you,” he said. That got her attention.

“Ron Weasley and Hermione Granger?”

Harry nodded.

“They know about me?”

“Yeah,” said Harry.

“You want me to meet them?”

“If you’re willing.”

“All right,” she said. She threaded her arm through Harry’s. He tried not to show his delight. Cassie very rarely touched anyone. 

She broke away soon, but it didn’t matter. Harry beamed the whole afternoon.

“I’ve invited Ron and Hermione to come to the museum with us this afternoon,” said Harry. 

“Clever,” said Draco. He was leaning against the wall. Harry thought he was trying to look casually graceful, but in fact he just seemed exhausted. “Doing it on her territory.”

“That’s what I thought. Are they feeding you?”

“Mhm,” said Draco. 

“ _What_ are they feeding you?” 

“Food,” said Draco. 

“If you tell me, I’ll give you this sandwich,” said Harry, pulling the sandwich in question out of his pocket and waving it. Draco’s eyes followed it intently.

“Not enough food,” he admitted. “And it’s all expired.”

Harry tossed him the sandwich. Draco caught it one-handed and ate it in four bites. 

“I looked at your case files,” said Harry. “You’ve kept your head down since the war, haven’t you?”

“Did you warn Weasley not to say anything about me? Cassie can be rather sharp-tongued, and I’d prefer it if she made a good impression.”

“Yeah, I told him. Cassie’s best friend is a muggle, did you know that?”

Draco rolled his eyes.

“Sasha sleeps over six nights out of every seven, Potter.”

“That doesn’t bother you?”

“Of course it bothers me. It’s a bloody pain having to cast glamours all over the house to make it look as if we have electricity. And washing up by hand. I don’t know how they do it. No house elves, even.”

“I don’t think you did it, you know. The potions ring.”

“Isn’t that touching.”

“I can see why they thought you might have done, though. I mean, the potions being trafficked require a Dark Mark, and there aren’t that many Death Eaters on the loose.”

Draco closed his eyes and leant his head against the wall. 

“How’s Cass?” he asked.

“I told her I loved her.”

Draco opened one eye. 

“Oh?”

“I think it embarrassed her.”

Draco laughed.

“Yes, I imagine it did. She probably thought it was insincere.”

“Why?”

Draco laughed again.

“Because Cass never tells anyone she loves them. She told me, once, but it was in bloody mirror writing.” He bit his lip. “They took it from me, when they put me in here. The piece of paper she wrote it on.”

“You’ll get your effects back after your trial.”

“How reassuring,” sighed Draco. “Anyway. She’s cagey about that sort of thing. Talk is cheap, and all that. Not that she doesn’t like to be told. I just don’t think it registers.”

“You really understand her,” said Harry. 

“No,” said Draco, shaking his head. “It’s dangerous to believe you understand someone, I think. Especially your child. But I try.” He turned abruptly away from Harry. “I miss her.”

“She misses you too,” said Harry, softly.

“You think that helps?” hissed Draco. “You think I’m so selfish as to _want_ her to hate this as much as I do?”

“I…” said Harry, wrong-footed. “Sorry.”

Draco turned back around, rubbing his eyes with his thumbs.

“No, I’m sorry, Potter. I appreciate you keeping me up to date. I’m just.” He laughed. “Frustrated.”

“Yeah,” said Harry. “Well. Wish me luck for this afternoon?”

Draco nodded.

“Will you let me know how it goes?” he asked. “And tell her not to be an idiot.”

“She and I don’t really have that dynamic.”

“Fine. Tell her I tell her not to be an idiot.”

Harry smiled.

“Yeah, all right,” he said. 

Cassie rolled her eyes when Harry passed on the message.

 _“I’m_ not the one who got myself thrown in prison,” she said. Then she glanced at Harry, her eyes mistrustful. “ _Not_ that he should be there.”

“I don’t think he did it, Cassie.”

“Good. Because he didn’t. He’s isn’t _that_ stupid.”

“Don’t call him stupid,” said Harry.

Cassie grinned suddenly, like clouds parting.

“I like it when you defend him,” she said. 

Harry didn’t know how to answer that.

They waited for Ron and Hermione just outside the Imperial War Museum. Harry could tell Cassie was nervous because she was talking too much. When Ron and Hermione arrived, however, she fell abruptly silent, and took a step closer to Harry. He put an arm around her stiff little shoulders.

“Wow,” said Ron.

“Oh my God,” whispered Hermione.

“Cassie Malfoy,” said Cassie, sticking her hand out. She had on her most imperious, forbidding expression. Hermione shook her hand, but Ron still seemed to be in shock.

“You’re like Harry, but _pretty_ ,” he said. 

“Thank you,” said Cassie, uncertainly.

“The similarity _is_ striking,” said Hermione.

“No wonder you didn’t need a paternity test,” Ron told Harry. “Merlin. She’s…”

“…Right here,” said Harry, warningly. “So let’s not talk about her as if she’s not.”

“Sorry, sorry,” said Ron, who couldn’t seem to look away from Cassie. “Just. You’re probably the cutest thing I’ve ever seen in my life.”

Cassie blushed to the tips of her ears.

“My father says it’s sexist to praise little girls for their looks and nothing else,” she said haughtily. 

“Does he?” asked Hermione. “I agree. Shall we go inside? I’ve never been to this museum. I understand you’re quite a good tour guide.”

Ron stared after them as they walked inside.

“Blimey,” he said. 

“I know,” said Harry.

“She’s gorgeous.”

“Yep.”

“She makes me want kids. _Nothing_ makes me want kids.”

“Well, she’s definitely a handful,” said Harry. 

“She’s half Malfoy, how could she not be?”

Harry shot him a look.

“Sorry, sorry,” said Ron, and mimed zipping his lips. 

Unfortunately, he was not able to keep his thoughts to himself the whole afternoon. After an hour of traipsing through the WWII exhibit, they ended up at the museum cafe. 

“You are really not what I expected,” said Ron told Cassie.

Next to Harry, Cassie went very still.

“What did you expect?” she asked sweetly. 

“I don’t know, someone a bit more… pampered.”

“Ron,” said Harry.

“Oh, you mean like my father was, as a child?” asked Cassie. “Before he became a Death Eater and lost everything?”

“Cassie,” said Harry.

“I’m very spoiled, really,” said Cassie. “Nothing like growing up without quite enough to eat, is there?”

“Cass,” said Harry, his voice spiking. “You didn’t have enough to eat?”

“Oh, _I_ did. Father always made sure I ate first,” said Cassie, glaring at Ron. “Spoiled me rotten. Such a bad parent. But then, he _is_ a Death Eater, so that’s no surprise, is it?”

“From what I’ve gathered,” said Hermione placatingly, “Malfoy is a devoted father. He talks about you all the time.” 

Cassie’s eyes were still flashing dangerously.

“Cassie,” said Harry. “Ron didn’t mean anything by it.”

“I didn’t, honest,” said Ron. “I swore to Harry I wouldn’t even bring up Malfoy.”

“Why not? Because you can’t talk about him without insulting him?” 

“No—”

Cassie turned to Harry.

“Do you let them insult him to _you?_ Even though you were in love in school?”

Ron laughed. 

“They weren’t _in love.”_

Cassie swivelled her head slowly to look at Ron, her eyes narrowed.

“What.”

“Ron,” said Harry.

“Is that what Malfoy told you?” asked Ron, sounding genuinely perplexed.

“There was always something between Harry and Draco,” said Hermione, kicking Ron under the table. “Always.”

Harry knew that Cassie had seen Hermione kick Ron. He could see her putting two and two together. 

“You weren’t in love,” she said to Harry. “You don’t even like him.”

“Cassie, darling—”

“I’d like to go home now, please.”

“Cassie—”

Cassie stood and strode away.

“Cassie, wait!” 

Harry glared at Ron and Hermione.

“Well, fuck,” he said.

“Go after her!” said Hermione.

Harry did. He caught up with her and took her to the nearest floo point. Cassie did not say a word.

“Cassie, listen to me,” said Harry, when they were back at Pansy’s. Cassie turned and looked him, her eyes cold. “It doesn’t change how I feel about you.”

“You weren’t in love with him,” said Cassie. 

“No,” said Harry, helplessly.

“Was he in love with you?”

“No,” said Harry. “It wasn’t like that.”

“Then what _was_ it like?”

Suddenly, Harry could understand why Draco had lied all those years. He couldn’t fathom telling Cassie how things had been between him and Draco in eighth year. He still flinched away from the thought, when it came upon him at night. He had been so cruel— callous, as Draco said. 

Harry stood in silence for a while, trying to think how to answer. 

“Never mind,” said Cassie. Her voice was fierce with unshed tears. “I understand.” 

“I love you,” he said.

“I bet you aren’t even trying to get him out of prison,” said Cassie. “I bet you’ll just leave him there. Because you think that’s where he belongs.”

“No, Cass, I promise—”

Cassie’s voice became shrill.

“I have homework,” she said, and left the front room, slamming the door behind her.


	5. Chapter 5

  
Draco listened to the tale in gloomy silence. 

“I feel awful,” said Harry.

“Do you,” said Draco.

Harry fiddled with the wall. Bits of plaster were flaking off because of the damp. It occurred to him that Draco was probably cold. 

“I don’t…” he began, trying phrase himself in the least inflammatory way possible. “I don’t even _fully_ understand why she’s so upset. Why does it matter if we were in love or not?”

Draco didn’t answer at first. He was leaning against the damp corner of his cell, looking thin and spidery. 

“It’s always been Cassie and me vs. the world,” he said, finally. “Allies, and enemies. I suspect she doesn’t know where to place you.” He brushed down his robes. “If you like me, you’re an ally. If not, you’re an enemy. But she doesn’t want you to be an enemy. So she feels conflicted.”

“I don’t have to be _in love_ with you to be your ally,” said Harry.

Draco raised his eyebrows at him. 

“I’m not your enemy!” said Harry.

“ _Ally_ also seems a bit of a stretch,” said Draco. “I suppose we could term you neutral.” He sighed. “This is my fault. It was the easiest way to explain your absence. ‘We were in love, but love is hard and complicated, and we couldn’t make it work.’ So she believed you were on Team Cassie and Draco, without you needing to show you were through actions. I didn’t think about what would happen if you showed up, and it became apparent that you’re not really on the team.”

“I get that she would prefer us to get on, but why does it matter so much that I _like_ you?”

“Because no one does,” said Draco lightly. “I told you. Us vs. them. There’s Blaise and Pansy, who treat me like a person, and make Cassie feel safe, and then there are all the people who spit at me in the street. Which sort do you think Cassie prefers? Can’t you see how distressing it is for her to know that you revile the person she trusts most? She’s too young and loyal to understand _why_ you despise me.”

“I don’t despise you.”

“Maybe when she’s older, things will seem less black and white to her. At the moment, there are only those who hurt her family, and those who don’t.”

“She accused me of keeping you in prison on purpose.”

Draco laughed.

“What a drama queen.”

“It’s not funny! What am I supposed to do? Seriously, I’d really appreciate some help, here.”

Draco swayed slightly on his feet.

“You don’t have another sandwich on you, by any chance, do you?” he asked.

“No,” said Harry, frowning. “Are they still not feeding you enough? I put in a complaint.”

“That explains why my guard was so disagreeable this morning. No, not much has changed in that regard.”

“Wait here,” said Harry. 

“What else am I supposed to do?” asked Draco faintly, as Harry left. 

Twenty minutes later, Harry returned with a large pepperoni pizza, which Draco fell upon with alarming speed.

After he had eaten four slices in as many minutes, he leant away from the box.

“Time,” he said. “That’s all, Potter. You have to understand that she and I have had a few bad experiences with people we thought we could trust.”

Harry chewed his pizza miserably.

“She said you didn’t always have enough to eat,” he said.

Draco bristled.

“She _always_ had enough!”

“I know,” said Harry. “She said _you_ didn’t have enough.”

“Oh,” said Draco, looking deflated. “I hoped she hadn’t noticed.”

“Doesn’t miss a trick, our girl.”

Draco gave him a shy smile.

“No, she doesn’t.” 

They ate the rest of the pizza in companionable silence. 

Harry was asleep in bed when the call came. The urgent one, from the ministry. It was Spooner.

“Break in! In the Auror department!”

Harry rolled out of bed and went to his fire place, where Spooner’s face was hovering in the flames. 

“What’s wrong?”

“It’s dark magic,” said Spooner. “And Malfoy’s missing from his cell.”

“I’ll be right there,” said Harry. “Don’t fucking _do_ anything.” 

He hurriedly pulled his auror robes over his pyjamas and flooed to the Ministry Atrium. He was sweeping across it when he heard Malfoy’s voice.

“Potter,” said Draco. Harry looked around, trying to find the source. “Over here,” said Draco, popping his head out from under what was clearly Harry’s invisibility cloak. 

He was sitting in a dark alcove. Harry checked no one was around, and went to join him.

“What the fuck are you playing at, Malfoy—”

Draco lifted the cloak a bit more, revealing Cassie. She was curled up in his lap, her eyes red from crying. She glared at Harry defiantly. 

“Cass just wanted to have a bit of a chat,” said Draco, quietly.

“Right,” said Harry. “Only you’ve set off the ministry alarms.”

Draco’s arms tightened around Cassie, who buried her head in his chest. 

“She won’t do it again,” said Draco. “She was just a bit upset. Can you get her back to Pansy’s safely?”

“Of course,” said Harry. “We have to go now, Spooner’s on the rampage.”

“That’s fine,” said Draco, tugging Cassie’s chin up with his index finger. “We sorted things out on our end.”

Cassie nodded. 

_“Ça va, maintenant?”_ asked Draco.

 _“Beaucoup mieux,”_ said Cassie, with a small hiccup.

 _“Mon p’tit chou. Je t’aime,”_ said Draco, kissing her softly on the forehead. Harry looked away.

“I know,” said Cassie. 

“Go on, then, darling.” Draco pushed her gently off his knees. Harry held out his hand, and she took it. 

“Will you be okay?” she asked Draco. “You won’t get in trouble?”

Draco looked at Harry inquiringly. 

“We’ll sneak him back into his cell and make it look as if Spooner made a mistake,” said Harry. “But we _need to go._ Draco, stay under the cloak.”

Cassie nodded. She and Harry started making their way to the floo, skirting round the shadows of the atrium, when suddenly she broke free of his grasp and darted back to the alcove where they had left Draco. Draco shed the invisibility cloak and swept her into an all-encompassing hug, kissing the top of her head over and over.

“You’re mad,” Harry heard him say. “You’ll be the death of me, you horrid little girl.”

“I miss you,” said Cassie, through her tears. “Please come back. Please come back.”

Draco brushed her dark hair away from her forehead, his thumb stroking the patch of skin which on Harry would have held his scar. It was clearly an oft-repeated, soothing gesture between them. 

“Come on, soldier, buck up,” he said. 

“I am, I…” Cassie took a step away from Draco, tears pouring down her cheeks, and clicked her heels into a sharp salute.

“That’s better,” said Draco, whose voice sounded a little wobbly.

Harry could hear Spooner’s shouting echoing down a nearby corridor.

“Malfoy, the cloak!” 

“At ease, soldier,” said Draco, chucking Cassie on the nose and disappearing once more under the voluminous folds of Harry’s invisibility cloak. 

Harry grabbed Cassie’s hand and dragged her to the floo network. As the green flames surrounded them, he heard Spooner’s voice shouting “Harry? Is that you?”

  
“Where’s Pansy?” asked Harry, when they arrived in the empty sitting room.

“I put a sleeping draught in her wine,” said Cassie. Harry covered his eyes with his hand.

“Cassie. You cannot drug people. You cannot break into the ministry of magic. You cannot steal my invisibility cloak.”

“I had to talk to him!”

“You could have asked me. I would have taken you to see him first thing in the morning, if you liked. You could have got into serious trouble!”

Cassie didn’t answer. Harry remembered the gentle way Draco had said “she won’t do it again.” From everything he knew about the pair of them, he suspected moments of softness between them were rare. 

“I have to go back and make sure your father is okay. Don’t you _ever_ do anything like that again. Merlin.”

Cassie hung her head. Harry sighed.

“Come here,” he said, and she obediently let him scoop her into a hug. She wasn’t stiff, the way she usually was. She wrapped her arms quickly around him and clung tight. 

“I had to talk to him,” she said again. 

“Okay,” said Harry. “Okay. That makes sense.” 

“I’m sorry I stole your cloak.”

“You can always borrow it. You only have to ask,” said Harry, although even as he said it, he knew that wasn’t quite true. If Cassie had asked him to borrow the cloak so that she could break into the ministry, would he have given it to her? Of course not. 

“I really have to go, now,” he said.

“I know,” said Cassie. “I don’t want him to get into trouble.”

“He won’t,” said Harry. “I’ll make sure of it.” He waved goodbye to her and returned to the Ministry. 

  
Draco had already made his way back to his cell. When Harry came in, he was pretending to be asleep, and the cloak was nowhere to be seen.

“Hello?” asked Draco blearily. “Is everything— oh, it’s just you.”

“One sec. Pretend to be asleep again.”

Harry found Spooner and just about prevented him from alerting the Minister for Magic that Voldemort had returned from the dead by showing him that Draco was asleep in his cell. An hour and an upsetting amount of paperwork later, Spooner had gone to bed, and Harry slipped back in to see Draco.

“Hey,” he said. 

Draco sat up.

“Everything okay?”

“Yeah, I think so,” said Harry. “She can’t _do_ things like that.”

“Try and stop her,” said Draco dryly. 

“How do you punish her?”

“Usually I ban Sasha from sleeping over, and that does the trick. But Sasha hasn’t been sleeping over, because Pansy finds it hard enough to deal with one kid.” Draco hesitated. “Didn’t you ever just… really need to talk to someone?”

Harry remembered how he’d felt after he’d seen Snape’s memories of his father. How it had seemed impossible that his parents could have loved each other, how it had smashed up every golden preconception he had about where he’d come from, and how desperate he’d been to talk to Sirius about it.

“Yeah,” he said. “I know the feeling.”

Draco nodded absently and lay back on the bed.

“Don’t be too hard on her, Harry. She was pretty distraught.”

“Is she okay now?” asked Harry.

Draco shrugged and turned over. It was obvious he didn’t want to talk anymore. 

“Draco,” said Harry quietly. Draco made a small sound to show he was listening. “I’m really grateful to you for all your help.”

“It’s not for you,” said Draco, but Harry knew that already.

“Dark magic,” said Spooner, for maybe the fifteenth time that morning. “I’m telling you, Malfoy wasn’t in his cell. He’s probably doing blood rituals to sneak around the ministry at night.”

“He hasn’t put a toe out of line in over ten years, Spooner. I seriously doubt he’s doing blood rituals.”

“Necromancy, then,” said Spooner. 

“I really don’t think so.”

“Well, I’ve made my report. Robards agrees with me. You’re to search Malfoy’s house.”

“Fine,” said Harry. “Whatever.”

  
Cassie had been staying in Pansy’s guest room, so Harry hadn’t been to Draco’s house yet. He apparated to the address on on Draco’s file. It was a small flat above a potions shop. The aurors really had done a number on the shop. All the shelves were smashed, as were the window fronts. Harry went to the back and let himself up into the flat. 

It was absolutely tiny, with almost no furniture. Everything was spartan and so neat that the effect was vaguely hostile. It was clear that the only thing that kept the flat from squalor was the aggression with which its occupants attacked clutter and dirt. Cassie’s bedroom was only a little bigger than Harry’s childhood cupboard, and about as dark. Draco’s bedroom was not much better. Harry searched through the flat diligently, keenly aware that he liked having an opportunity to learn more about Cassie’s life, even though he knew he was invading her privacy.

He truly hadn’t realised how poor Draco was. Pansy’s house was quite respectable, and Cassie was always well-dressed, although, now he thought about it, _Draco’s_ robes reminded him a bit of Professor Lupin’s clothes in third year. He thought uncomfortably of Grimmauld Place, of the dozens of spare bedrooms, the sitting room, the breakfast room, the dining room. Draco’s whole flat could have fit into Harry’s kitchen. 

He went through the drawers of Draco’s desk, because there was a section on the search form that required it. He was just shutting the last drawer when something caught his eye. His own name, in Draco’s curling handwriting. 

He remembered what Cassie had told him, the first time he met her: _“He writes you letters a few times a year and never sends them.”_

Harry knew he shouldn’t look. He knew, and yet he couldn’t stop himself from picking up the first letter. It had a date at the top, showing that it was from almost eleven years ago. Harry glanced at the next piece of paper and saw that it was also a letter addressed to him. The next one was, as well. It was a whole drawer of letters to him, and interspersed throughout were pictures: pictures of Cassie. 

Harry could feel his curiosity getting the better of him. He took all the letters and pictures out of the desk, got comfortable on the floor, and began to read. 


	6. Chapter 6

  
_Potter,_

_Look, I know you said you didn’t want anything to do with me, and I wouldn’t write if I weren’t desperate, but I am desperate, because father just kicked me out and I don’t have any money and I don’t know what I’m going to fucking do and I’m so scared and—fuck. I’m not going to send this, am I? I can’t. Let me try again. Consider this a first draft._

_Potter, I know you despise me with every fibre of your being, but if you don’t send me some money your child is going to be born in this tube station. (Why am I in a tube station? I tried slouching around Diagon Alley but people kept giving me nasty looks. So I’m sitting at Charring Cross, before the barriers, obviously. Haven’t got muggle money. Or any money. Or a place to stay.)_

_I know you don’t owe me anything._

_I’m just sort of panicking a bit right now. But it will be fine! It will be so fine. Tragedy + time = comedy, yes? Like haha remember that time I swore myself into the Dark Lord’s private army and did a million things I will regret for the rest of my life, oh what fun._

_One day, I’ll be at a party, and someone will say, “Hey Draco, tell that one about the time you were pregnant in a muggle tube station, disinherited, hated and alone?”_

_And my face will light up._

_“Oh yes,” I’ll say. “That’s a good one.”_

_Fuck this. I’ll write to Blaise. He doesn’t give a toss about me, but he doesn’t actively dislike me, either._

_D. Malfoy_

  
_Dear Potter,_

_I don’t know if you’ve heard, but I’ve moved in with Blaise. It’s more or less temporary, I think. What I mean is, Blaise is not the sort of person who stays interested for long. And I’m huge. And I feel ill all the time. And I’m just no fun, and Blaise is ALL fun, and the sex has been pretty lacklustre; I think he does it out of some kind of misplaced sense of duty (that’s certainly why I do it), and— shit, I can’t send this letter, either, can I? No matter. Consider this a first draft. I’m writing because… because I was surprised you weren’t interested in Cassie. That’s what I’m calling her. Unless I hear from you. I am open to other options. This is sort of what I mean. Don’t you want to help pick her name? I know you’d choose something sickeningly meaningful. _

_I was thinking Lily for a middle name, because Severus once told me that was your mother’s name. I don’t even know if that’s right. Maybe I misheard._

_Apparently giving birth is quite dangerous? Who knew. Blaise changes the subject whenever I bring it up. I think he’s nervous. I’m trying not to be nervous because stress is bad for the baby._

_It’s not exactly that I miss you; obviously I barely know you. I guess it’s more that it’s hard to do this alone. Maybe that’s what I deserve? Is that what you think? Probably. Ah well, if you zoom out enough, it’s not so bad. It’s funny, really, if you squint._

_Blaise pays for everything. He has an allowance from his mother, and it’s not really enough for the two of us. I had a job for a few months, but then I got sick and had to quit. I wish you’d send some bloody money, to be honest. Maybe I’ll send the next letter._

_D. Malfoy_

  
_Dear Harry,_

_She’s a fucking horror show of a baby, that’s for sure. Full head of fucking hair, like Richard III. Dark as pitch and green eyes, as if she knew she’d have to work to convince you to love her. But you would love her, if you met her. I think anyone would. But you especially._

_Blaise asked me once, why I chose to keep her. I did think about it. The birth was pretty feral, they thought I wasn’t going to make it; I mean, it’s not like this is meant to happen. And she’s going to ruin my life. She already has._

_I don’t even like kids._

_I wanted to know what our child would be like, though. I was curious. Aren’t you curious? You must know she’s been born by now. Don’t you want to know what she’s like? I’ve attached a photo. She’s hideous. Blaise says she’s cute but he’s being polite. The nurse said she really is cute and I just don’t like babies. She’s not wrong. But I think I’ll get on with Cassie all right, because she screams and wails and makes a huge fuss and I relate. _

_It’s very boring in my head because all I think about is Cassie Cassie Cassie, like being in love. It makes me sad that you don’t feel that way._

_Obviously I’m not sending this letter, either. The fact is, if you called her Death Eater scum I’d have to get out the old robes and finish the Dark Lord’s noble work and AK you to death. I would._

_I wouldn’t. Can’t kill to save my life, can I? But I couldn’t stand to hear you say the things you said about me, about her._

_Only we do need money. Poor Blaise is not cut out for the domestic life. I try to be charming and funny, he tries to be subtle about the people he’s shagging behind my back. I don’t mind too much. Well, obviously I mind, but I understand. We’re only in a relationship because he feels bad for me. He holds Cassie like she’s from another planet. There’s not money for a babysitter, and I can’t exactly cart her to a job, so I feel pretty fucking trapped, actually._

_I really did mean to send this letter. Because of the whole money thing. But I just. “You’re still a fucking Death Eater, Malfoy. I don’t want anything to do with you.”_

_I’ll try my parents again._

_D. Malfoy_

  
_Dear Harry,_

_Please enjoy this picture of our daughter weeping profusely at her first birthday party._

_Actually, fuck you._

_D. Malfoy._

  
_Dear Harry,_

_Blaise and I just broke up and I don’t know what to do I have no savings where are we going to live fuck FUCK he says we can stay with him but God obviously we can’t oh God I just want her to be okay I’m so scared I’m going to fuck her up I wish you were here_

  
_Potter,_

_I’m sure you’ve heard, but Cassie and I are living with Pansy Parkinson now. In case you wish to contact us, our address is overleaf. I’ve also attached a photograph of Cassie crying with fury because I didn’t let her shut the front door. (We went back and let her shut it, in the end.) Cassie is walking and talking now, more’s the pity, she’s a total pain in the arse. We get into a lot of fights re: biscuits, and whether she can have them. (Her stance: yes. My stance: It’s not about the biscuits. It’s about rules and respect and building the framework for personhood.) _

_I wonder what sort of parent you’ll be? Because I know you’ll have kids. I know how much you want them. That’s why it was so awful when you didn’t want Cassie._

_I know you’d want her, if you met her. You can barely tell she’s related to me at all. She’s not scared of anything. The other day, I screamed like a little girl at a spider in the shower, and Cassie rescued me from almost certain death-by-terror. She scooped the bugger up in her tiny hands and took him out to the window sill. Brave, and soft-hearted. But don’t worry, I’ll beat that out of her. She’ll be a hardened criminal by the time I’m through with her! ’Tis the Malfoy way._

_Speaking of which, was wondering if you could send us some money. I wrote to my parents when Blaise broke up with me, and received in return a rather opinionated Howler on the subject of, among other things: unnatural sexual deviancy, blood treachery, and beds that must be lain in now they have been made._

_Got an anonymous envelope that afternoon with 20 galleons in it. No note. I’m sure it was from mother. I sent the galleons to Blaise in a pitiful attempt to start repaying the year I didn’t pay rent. He sent it back with a note saying he loved me and I could always stay with him if I needed. Twat._

_I really need to get better at sending you letters. I always end up revealing too much and then feeling certain you’ll read it with a nasty curl in your lip and that makes me want to put my head in an oven so then I can’t possibly send it._

_Ahhh, the little monster has awoken. Maybe I’ll send the next one._

_D. Malfoy_

  
_Potter,_

_I don’t need to write you woeful, unsendable letters begging you for money anymore, because Blaise Zabini is an angel of goodness! He inherited 10,000 galleons from some man who was in love with his mother in the 70s (story of Blaise’s life) and he just… gave me half. Split right down the middle, Here you go Draco, No strings, What are friends for._

_It’s was enough for me to hire a nanny to come in and look after Cass while I get a job. It was a little stressful finding someone because, as I’m sure you recall, everyone in the Wizarding world hates me. Which is fine, it will get funny eventually, and I’ve just got to wait it out, that’s all. But see, they also hate Cass because of me. Like you, I suppose. It’s rather a frightening prospect, to give your two-year-old to a woman who would like to cause you the most pain possible. I set up spying spells all over Pansy’s house. The first nanny didn’t feed Cass once, all day. I fired her, fed Cass, then cried in the bathroom, as is my wont. We had a few other mishaps like that, but finally we found a nice Durmstrang girl. Well, I say nice. She’s a blood purist, and very insistently wanted to know whether Cassie’s mother was an m-word. I told her Pansy was the mother, because in my experience, blood purists don’t tend to be… keen on homosexuality. Pansy went along with it, although she whacked me with a newspaper afterwards and said she was too skinny to have given birth. I don’t know what that has to do with it. I’ve never lost so much weight as I did in the hospital after having Cass. Pansy says that doesn’t count because I was dying. _

_Anyway, I have a job now, as a sales assistant at a potions shop in Diagon Alley. My boss is a monumental wanker, but money is money, eh? I want to move out, get a little flat for me and Cass. Pansy has been patient, but she’s a 21-year-old single girl living in London. I’m cock-blocking her to shit. The other night she brought someone home, and Cass had a nightmare and started screaming. The guy poked his head out of Pansy’s room, saw me rushing to tend to Cass, and absolutely freaked. Thought Pansy had a secret Death Eater lovechild; not exactly marriage material. Pansy was good about it, made jokes straight away, but I felt awful._

_It’s a relief not to have the nagging feeling that I ought to be writing to you for money. See, I can manage a little squalor, but I felt sure I was being a bad parent by not forcing you to help financially. Now I don’t need to worry about that. I’m free! Ahaha!_

_D. Malfoy_

  
_The thing is, Harry,_

_When I was little, my mother would hold one hand, and my father the other, and I remember feeling sandwiched by love on either side. It was like being tucked up in bed. It was good; unconditional, and even though I love Cass so much that sometimes it feels like my head will explode, I wish she had twice that._

_Then again, my parents’ love didn’t turn out to be so unconditional, after all. Maybe it’s better to have one parent who’s really committed, than two who will tell you they aren’t your parents anymore if you do something they don’t like._

_Cassie hasn’t done anything, Harry. She’s just a little girl. I was so sure you would show up, eventually. I was so sure you would love her. _

_Draco_

  
_Potter,_

_I’m sure you’ve heard, but Cass and I have moved into a flat by ourselves. If you would like to visit or write, the address is overleaf. I have also attached a photograph of Cass screaming with rage because I made her take a ballet class. (We have compromised since. Piano lessons.)_

_We have more or less enough money. Which is to say, there’s enough money for Cassie to have everything she needs, as long as I don’t mind getting a bit thin and rangy. I won’t say that a check from you wouldn’t be welcome. I’d love a winter cloak—I turned my one into a new one for Cass because she grew so much this year. But I’m a dab hand at warming charms, so I get by._

_It’s lovely having our own flat. Cassie is much more cuddly when it’s just the two of us. It does get a bit lonely sometimes, though._

_Well, I guess I’m not sending this one, either. Probably for the best._

_D. Malfoy_

  
_Harry,_

_Loving Cassie feels like loving you. Sometimes I catch a glimpse of her dark head out of the corner of my eye and I remember staring at you across the Great Hall and I want to scream._

_Pansy says I’ve got to get over you. I say there’s nothing to get over. Pansy says one day I’ll meet someone who will treat me as I deserve to be treated. I say, I already met you._

_Draco_

_Harry,_

_I’m never going to send any of these letters, and I’m never going to stop writing them, because I’m not writing to you. I’m writing to myself, and you own that. You own a little corner of my soul, you always have, and now, through Cassie, you always always will._

_Pansy says I’m pathetic. I don’t disagree. When you and I started shagging, I hoped you’d grow to like me. I thought, if you spent more time with me, you’d see that I had changed. And I’ve always thought we should be friends, although in retrospect I can see why we weren’t._

_Look… I don’t know what I’m saying. I’ve been something close to in love with you since I was fifteen. I love you because of how you are with other people. And maybe you feel something for me, because you’ve always treated me differently. You don’t curse other people in bathrooms. You don’t hiss cruel insults at other people when you fuck them — it would have come up in the Prophet by now. If you’d knocked up anyone else, you would have been there for them. I know you would have been, because I thought you would be there for me. That’s how the magic works, you know— a wizard can’t get preggers unless he’s in love, and trusts the other wizard to do right by him. _

_Sometimes Cass says something funny, and I tell Pansy, and she smiles indulgently at me. I wish there was someone who told me the funny things Cass says._

_I wish there was anyone else on earth who loved her as much as I do. You may have treated me as I deserve, but you’ve been unfair to her. I make you unfair, I suppose. That’s the power I have over you. I wonder what sort of power that is. The opposite of love, maybe. True, deep, mystical hatred._

_She’s just reappeared at my side. She wants to play potions. I have to go play potions with your daughter. I don’t think I’ll write again for a while._

_Love,_

_Draco_

  
_Dear Harry,_

_Cass asked me about you today. She’s six now. She’s asked before, but I always put her off. You were in the Prophet today, though, and she knows who you are, and that you’re her father. I’ve never hidden that from her._

_She asked when she would meet you._

_“Someday,” I said._

_“Why not now?” she asked. I told her that you were busy keeping the Wizarding world safe from evil. She nodded sagely and asked no more._

_Love,_

_Draco_

  
_Christ, Potter,_

_Your daughter is a scoundrel of the highest degree! She is a scurrilous wench! She is a busybodying nosy parker! She is a jumped-up street urchin, a ne’er do well, a scrofulous knave— (etc)_

  
_Dear Harry,_

_Every morning Cassie scours the newspapers for your name. She cuts out all the articles about you and pastes them into a book and makes me read through them with her. It’s an extraordinarily painful exercise, but it seems to make her happy._

_“Why isn’t he with you?” she asked, today._

_Hahaha._

_“We weren’t good together,” I said._

_“But you were in love.”_

_“I was very much in love, yes.”_

_“Will he have another little girl with someone else?”_

_“Maybe, but she won’t be as pretty, since she’s not mine.”_

_“Good point,” said Cassie, and she stopped prying my heart open._

_It’s getting harder to answer her questions, though._

_Draco_

  
_Dear Harry,_

_Pansy says I need to start dating. I explained that there would be plenty of time for me to date in my eighties. Pansy says I’m using Cassie as an excuse to avoid facing my “morbid fear of rejection”. We left Cass with Blaise (always a dangerous combination, since Cass knows exactly how to work him—he ends up letting her eat ice cream for dinner and stay up till midnight, no matter how much I warn him about her crocodile tears) and we went to a bar. Pansy picked out a victim, and I approached, shark-like._

_“Come here often?” I asked. (Intelligent, suave Draco Malfoy, known the world-over for his incisive chat-up lines.)_

_“Yeah,” he said. “Want a drink?”_

_“Oh, I think someone’s calling me,” I said, and then I bravely ran away. Pansy was furious. But I don’t need a boyfriend. I have Cassie._

_Cassie has made a page in her scrapbook for all your romantic conquests. “Paramours,” she calls them. It’s rather disheartening._

_Draco_

  
_Dear Harry,_

_Pansy says I’m putting too much on Cassie. I don’t know if she’s right. Cass is my whole world, and I’m hers. Is that unhealthy? I don’t know. We understand each other. Pansy said if I don’t start opening up, I’m going to implode when Cass goes to Hogwarts. I said, we’ll cross that bridge when we come to it._

_But then Pansy said that Cassie was worried about leaving me behind. So I’ve been going on dates._

_Fun fact: not many wizards want to date impoverished single-father war criminals. Here are the types of people willing to go out with me:_

_1\. Blood purists who think the Dark Lord was misunderstood/ had the right idea. Hard pass._

_2\. Foreigners who don’t really understand about the war. Decent option, you’d think. Only both times, they ended up telling their British friends about me and being talked out of it right as it looked as if it might get serious. Which. Ahh. Slightly painful. But I understand, obviously._

_3\. Men going through a rebellious phase: has only happened once. I figured it out because he kept carting me to family functions and forcing me to show my Dark Mark to his great aunts. One of them spat at me._

_4\. Muggles. Excellent option (no, Potter, I don’t eat them for breakfast) except How in bloody hell are you suppose to have a relationship with someone who doesn’t believe in MAGIC???_

_5\. Wizards bent on revenge for the war who are willing to pretend they like you until you like them back and then they hurt you and tell you that you deserve it— no further comment, fuck you Andy_

_That’s it, that’s the list of people willing to go out with me. Slim pickings! Maybe one day I’ll write a hilarious book about it. I never mention any of this to Cass, by the way. I date in the shadows. Don’t want her getting mixed up in all this nonsense. Do I have to date? Can’t I just keep pining away for you? It’s been working out so well for me, thus far._

_But I don’t want Cassie to feel like she’s the only thing in my life. That’s a lot of pressure on a child._

_So. Date tonight with a man who I haven’t figured out yet, think he’s either a category 3 or 5. Wish me luck, Potter!_

_Draco_

_Dear Harry,_

_I’ve finally met someone! Isaac is American. He and Cassie get on. He bought her a toy submarine for her ninth birthday that went over extremely well. I’m not sure yet, but I feel like I might be falling in love. In love! Me! With someone who doesn’t wish I was rotting in prison! Huzzah!_

_I wonder what you’re up to, now. Cassie and I play a game where we imagine what you’re doing. We try and outstrip each other for ridiculous feats of bravery you could be performing at any given time. I make fun of you, but never too much, because I still think it’s pretty brilliant that she’s related to you. I want her to know she isn’t only descended from evil, you know? So we talk about you a lot. I hope I’m doing a good job with her. Isaac says I am. That’s probably why I’m falling for him, tbh._

_In love! Me! With someone who loves me back!_

_D. Malfoy_

  
Harry slowly put the letters back into the drawer and rested his head against the sharp wooden edge of the desk, a hollow feeling spreading through his chest.


	7. Chapter 7

Draco sat up when Harry entered his cell.

“Back again, Potter? Haven’t you got anything better to do?”

Harry stared at him. There must have been something in his expression, because Draco jumped to his feet, and when he spoke, his voice was panicked.

“What’s wrong? Is Cassie okay?”

“She’s fine.”

“What’s happened? Is it my case? They’re sending me to Azkaban, aren’t they? What will happen to Cass?”

“Draco, calm down, nothing’s wrong.”

Draco fell silent at the use of his first name. Harry took off his thick winter cloak and held it out to him.

“What are you doing?” asked Draco suspiciously. He did not take the cloak.

“Just bloody take it, will you? It’s freezing in here.”

Draco cast him a suspicious look, then wrapped the cloak around himself. He visibly relaxed as the warming charms in the wool worked on him.

Harry sat on the wire cot.

“I read your letters,” he said. Draco made a high-pitched sound and stepped away from him, backing into the wall.

“What?!”

“I was assigned to search your house.”

“Those were private!”

“They had my name on them,” said Harry.

“That doesn’t mean— oh, Merlin, never fucking mind. Marvellous. Spiffing. Why in God’s name did you _tell_ me? Don’t answer. I know. To humiliate me. To make me feel like shit.”

“No!” protested Harry.

“I haven’t written one in ages, anyway,” said Draco.

“Not for a year.”

“It’s Past-Draco who humiliated himself. Current Draco is not self-pitying in the least.”

“They weren’t self-pitying,” said Harry, who was struggling to speak. “They were…” He had tears in his throat. He swallowed them down. 

“And I’m not in love with you anymore,” said Draco. “So you can stop feeling smug about _that_.”

“I didn’t think you were!”

Draco glared at him.

“I sent Blaise 5000 galleons,” said Harry, to break the hostile silence. “More, actually, to pay him back for rent and so on.”

Draco’s furious expression was replaced with something more like surprise.

“Oh. Thanks,” he said.

“Sorry isn’t really a big enough word,” said Harry. Draco gave him a strange look.

“What?” he asked.

“I can’t… I can’t express how sorry I am. I can’t possibly explain,” said Harry.

“You’re… sorry?”

“I…” Harry shook his head, as if he had water in his ears. “It was so hard to read them.”

“Well, you could have stopped, you know,” said Draco.

“I owe you a lot of money,” said Harry. “For childcare. Fuck. If I’d had any idea—”

He kept thinking of 18-year-old Draco Malfoy, scribbling desperate letters begging for help in Charring Cross tube station. 

“What would you have done?” asked Draco quietly.

“I’d have bought you a flat,” said Harry. He didn’t need time to answer, because it was all he’d been thinking about since he read the letters. “A really nice one, preferably near my house. And I would have gone to all the doctors appointments, if you’d let me. And I would have been there when you were sick in hospital. I’d have paid for childcare so you could have a job if you wanted. Or paid for you to stay home and homeschool her, if that’s what you would have preferred. I’d have taken her on weekends. I would bring her back and tell you all the funny things she said. I’d have taken pictures of the two of you together, and made her birthday cakes, and just… I would have been there. For her. For _you._ ”

Draco tilted his head to the side, frowning. He paused for a long time before he spoke.

“Care for a word of advice about remorse from an evil Death Eater?”

“You’re not an evil Death Eater,” said Harry.

 _“Do better, and move on_. That’s all you can do.”

Harry looked at him.

“You want me to move on?”

“Do better by Cass, and don’t beat yourself up too much, yeah.”

“That’s… very forgiving,” said Harry.

Draco blushed.

“Yes, well, I’ve done enough things I regret to be enthusiastically in favour of second chances.”

“Would you at least let me grovel for a bit?”

“Oh, grovel away. I like gifts,” said Draco.

“Gifts?”

“Expensive ones.”

“Noted.”

Draco laughed, and Harry allowed himself to, as well. 

“The other day, at the Imperial War Museum—”

“Good grief,” interrupted Draco. “If there’s one good thing about facing life imprisonment on trumped up charges, it’s that I’ll never have to go to that dastardly museum again.”

“I think it’s quite good,” said Harry.

“Yes, but you’ve probably only been forty or fifty times,” said Draco.

“Well, we were looking at the numbers of British casualties on the first day of the Somme. 60,000. I said, ‘It’s pretty hard to envision numbers that large.’ And she said, ‘No it isn’t. I just imagine 60,000 Draco Malfoys.’”

Draco laughed, and Harry suddenly knew just what Draco had meant, in his letter. Harry had told that same anecdote to Ron and Hermione, and they had found it funny enough. But Draco’s eyes were bright with some feeling Harry recognised, because it burned within him, too.

“Too many Dracos,” said Draco. 

“Or not enough,” said Harry. 

“Mhm,” said Draco, sitting next to Harry on the cot. Harry tried not to think too hard. He let his head droop onto Draco’s shoulder. 

Draco stiffened instantly.

“Potter,” he said sharply. “Your head. It’s touching me.”

“Er, sorry,” said Harry, sitting up. “Thought we were having a moment.”

“We were. And then you molested me.”

“I did not molest you!”

“It was an assault upon my person.”

“I barely touched you!”

“I’ll need a lot of gifts to make up for that brutal attack. I like silk cravats. Are you familiar with Hermes?”

“You’re a brat, you know that?”

Draco’s expression grew serious.

“I’m not sleeping with you, Harry.”

“I—” stammered Harry.

“I know you probably think, having read those letters, that I’d like nothing more than to bend over and take it, but that’s not at all how this is going to go.”

“I didn’t think—”

“Quite apart from anything else, you’re a prick to me after sex, and Cassie will pick up on it, and she won’t forgive you. I told you, she’s loyal.”

“I wasn’t trying to sleep with you, Draco!”

“Hm,” said Draco, looking unconvinced. And when Harry thought about it, he could sort see why. Harry _hadn’t_ been trying to sleep with him, but he _did_ want to. Very much. No one else had ever felt like Draco, and now he was better looking than ever, and funny, and a great father, and just really fucking fit, basically. 

“Look, I’m not saying… that I don’t _want_ to. But I would never expect—I wasn’t trying—”

“Oh, don’t have an aneurism, Potter. Just keep your amorous head-tilts to yourself.”

“Right. Sorry.”  
“This is all muddled enough without you trying to seduce me.”

“I wasn’t trying to seduce—!”

Draco smirked, and Harry realised he was just winding him up.

“Fine,” said Harry. “Hermes. Muggle brand, isn’t it?”

“ _Please_ don’t be tiresome about the whole ‘Draco Malfoy Used To Be A Terrorist’ thing,” said Draco. “I know perfectly well how you feel about it.”

“I wasn’t implying anything! You weren’t very good at being evil, anyway.”

“Must we do this, Potter?”

“I’m just saying. I’m not the same, angry, fucked up teenager I was when I said all those things to you. My opinions have changed, and—”

Harry stopped talking, because Draco had literally put his hands over his ears and started chanting “la la la, I can’t hear you!”

“You’re a child,” he told Draco.

“No, _you’re_ a child,” retorted Draco. “I _have_ a child.”

“Speaking of which, any advice on what I can buy, to worm my way into Cassie’s affections?”

“Oh, Isaac did all right by giving her toys that were more or less weapons of mass destruction. But truthfully she’s not very materialistic. What she cares about is _time_.”

 _Isaac_. Was Draco still dating him? Was that why he had panicked when Harry touched him? The thought of Draco having a wonderful, loving boyfriend made Harry feeling strangely miserable.

“Time, right,” said Harry. “I can give her that.”

  
When he got to Pansy’s house that evening, Pansy was waiting for him, smoking a cigarette.

“Blaise wants to see you,” she said.

“Oh.”

Pansy blew smoke out the side of her mouth.

“Take Cassie with you,” she said. “It’ll help.”

“…help?”

“Mhm,” said Pansy. “Blaise could hold a grudge for England.”

“You want to help me,” said Harry blankly. 

Pansy took a drag of her cigarette, staring intently at him.

“Surprising, isn’t it?” she said. “Cassie! Your dad’s here!”

Cassie came hurtling in. 

“Aunt Pansy says we’re going to visit Uncle Blaise!” she said, her face shining with excitement.

“Er, yes, that’s right,” said Harry. “But first, I have something for you.”

Pansy raised her eyebrows and settled herself into an armchair. Harry would really have preferred to do this alone, but he wasn’t going to let her change his plans. He pulled out the invisibility cloak.

“I was given this when I was eleven, but I want you to have it now.”

Cassie took it, looking perplexed.

“Your invisibility cloak?”

“Yeah. You’ll take good care of it, won’t you?”

“But…” she looked up at him. “What about your other children?”

“I don’t have any other children,” he said, with a panicked glance at Pansy. “Do I?” 

Pansy shook her head, amused.

“There’s Teddy Lupin,” said Cassie. “You’re with him all the time, in the society pages.”

"He's your cousin, you know."

"Second cousin," corrected Cassie.

"In any case, he's not my child. Not like you."

Cassie looked at the cloak in her hands. 

“What about the children you’ll have with your wife?” she asked.

“I don’t have a wife.”

Cassie shook her head impatiently.

“What about your _real_ family that you’ll have someday?”

“Cass… you _are_ my real family. I want you to have it. It’s a Potter heirloom, and you’re a Potter.”

Cassie clasped the cloak tightly to her chest. 

“I’m not giving it back,” she said fiercely. “Even if you do have another kid.”

Harry laughed. 

“You don’t have to. I told you, it’s yours. And I don’t want another kid.”

Cassie let the cloak tumble free. She wrapped it around her shoulders.

“You’ve made a big mistake giving her that, Potter,” said Pansy. “At least with the disillusionment potions she used to pilfer, we could see her when she moved.”

Cassie’s disembodied head moved around the room as she sprang to the mirror and admired herself. 

“It’s really mine?” she said. 

“Yep,” said Harry. 

She took it off and folded it, much more carefully than Harry ever had. 

“I will take _such_ good care it.” 

“I know you will,” said Harry. She slipped it into her large coat pocket and fixed Harry with great green eyes.

“Thank you,” she said, and he could tell he had finally got through to her. 

“I love you,” he said. She gave him a little smile. 

“I know,” she said, and Harry could have floated away with relief. 

“Right. Uncle Blaise. I understand he doesn’t like me.”

 _“I’ll_ talk to him,” said Cassie self-importantly. She held out her hand, and they stepped into the fireplace together. 

Blaise’s flat was the most archetypal bachelor pad imaginable. Blaise himself was staring out of his enormous glass windows when they arrived. 

“Empress!” he cried, when he saw Cassie. He bowed low over her hand, kissing her knuckles. 

“Sir,” she said gravely. 

“There’s something for you in my study,” said Blaise.

“Is it a plane? Is it?”

“Go and see. It’s on my desk.” 

Cassie raced off to look for her gift. Blaise turned to scowl at Harry. 

“Potter,” he said. 

“Oh!” cried Cassie from the other room. “A replica of the Red Baron’s plane!” She reappeared, clutching the small toy. “Uncle Blaise, thank you!”

“It flies, as well,” said Blaise. 

“Thank you thank you thank you!” 

Harry wasn’t quite sure how to feel about her exuberant gratitude. She hadn’t been like that about the cloak. She had been serious and reverent. 

“Now, why don’t you go play with it in my study while I have a little talk with your dad?” said Blaise.

“Uncle Blaise,” said Cassie sternly. “You have to be nice to him.”

“Cassie! When have I _ever_ been _anything_ but nice?”

“Uncle Blaise!”

Blaise bowed his head. 

“I won’t hex him. You have my word.”

“Okay.” Cassie skipped back to Blaise’s study, turning to mouth “good luck” to Harry before shutting the door behind her.

Blaise cast a privacy spell. 

“Er,” began Harry.

“Shut up, Potter. I don’t care that Pansy says there was some sort of Shakespearean misunderstanding. I don’t care that you’re quote unquote _reformed_. To me, you’re only ever going be the person who used to give Draco panic attacks after you fucked him.”

“Panic attacks?” repeated Harry, feeling a little faint.

“Yes, and who do you think had to pick up the pieces? You could turn out to be the world’s best father, but I’m never going to forget how you treated him.”

“I… I was pretty fucked up, after the war.”

“And I’m sure your friends have a great deal of sympathy for your circumstances. Just as I sympathise with why Draco was a Death Eater. Doesn’t mean I can forgive you, anymore than your friends will ever forgive him.”

“Right. Erm. So, is that why you wanted to meet me? To tell me you’ll hate me for all eternity?”

“Pretty much,” said Blaise, looking at his nails. “And to tell you what you owe Draco. I don’t want you fannying about, giving me 5000 galleons, when what he really needs is a fucking life.”

“A… a life?”

“You don’t get it, do you? Astoria Greengrass was going to marry him. Fuck, _I_ would have married him, if it hadn’t been for—” he glanced at his study door and lowered his voice. “Obviously I’m glad he had Cassie. She’s my best girl. But the fact is, Draco threw his life away when he decided to keep her. Single, he would have married someone respectable, and his reputation would have been rehabilitated. Look at Goyle, for Christ’s sake.”

Harry distantly remembered reading somewhere that Goyle had married Susan Bones and ran an apple orchard on the Isle of Wight. 

“But you think Draco’s used goods, do you?” asked Harry, his face getting hot. Blaise threw him a scornful look.

“Of course not. But _my_ reputation isn’t buoyant enough to pull him up, not when he’s got Harry Potter’s fucking illegitimate lovechild. Haven’t you thought about how this is going to play out in the press? Either you’re a deadbeat dad, or Draco’s a manipulative slag. Which do you think they’re going to go for?”

“I’ll tell them there was a misunderstanding.”

 _“‘Noble Chosen One Lies To Save Death Eater’s Honour’_ ” said Blaise. “Yes, that will go over well. No, like it or not, Draco’s fucked. You might be able to save Cassie by association, but Draco is going to spend the rest of his life poor as a churchmouse, doing a job he hates, knowing that everyone in the Wizarding world wishes he were dead. So you owe him.”

“Draco _chose_ to keep Cassie.”

“Yeah, he did, the crazy fucker. He sacrificed _everything_ for her, and now you’re going to waltz in, ten years late, buy her a few expensive gifts, and be praised by all and sundry for being _such_ a wonderful father.”

“I’m doing my best, all right? The situation isn't great for me, either. You think I'm happy about missing the first ten years of my daughter's life? And for your information, I _want_ to help Draco. What do you suggest?”

Blaise glared at him, but clearly couldn’t think of anything to say.

“I don’t know,” he said, finally. “He’s fucked, honestly. He’s stuck in his miserable little life, and when Cass goes to Hogwarts, he’s going to go stark raving mad. That’s if they don’t chuck him in prison for something he didn’t do, first.”

“What about… Isaac?” asked Harry, delicately. Blaise gave a harsh bark of laughter.

“Isaac? Bastard. Draco really knows how to pick ‘em. First you, who made him feel worse than worthless, then me, who cheated on him nonstop for a year, then Isaac, who would get drunk and hex him. Mind you, Draco didn’t complain. He only broke up with him when Pansy and I pointed out that he might start on Cassie next.”

“Oh,” said Harry.

“Draco never feels more _seen_ than when people are treating him like shit. I’m sure he felt you _understood_ him, when you were such a bastard to him in eighth year.”

“Blaise,” said Harry, his heart beating fast against his ribs. “Blaise, what if… what if _I_ married him?”

Blaise took in a sharp breath.

“Go on,” he said.

“I mean, if you had married him, it would have been more or less a business arrangement, right?” said Harry. Blaise nodded. “Okay. So I marry him. The story in _The Prophet_ is ‘Star-Crossed Lovers Reunite’. Draco is accepted everywhere as my husband, and by the time we’ve staged our amicable divorce— in which he gets half my fortune—people are used to treating him with respect.”

Blaise stared at him.

“You mean it,” he said.

“D’you think Draco would go for it?”

Blaise laughed. 

“No. But it’s a matter of spinning it. Tell him it’s for Cassie’s sake.”

“Yeah,” said Harry thoughtfully. “To protect her from bad press, or something.”

“That might work. He’d do anything for her. Even,” Blaise sneered, “marry _you_.”

“Yeah, okay,” said Harry testily. “I get it, you don’t like me.”

“I’m beginning to revise my opinion of you, actually.” Blaise looked him up and down. “But you can’t sleep with him. You’re a prick when you sleep with him, and Cassie will notice.”

“I was eighteen! I was a mess! I’m not _always_ a prick to the people I sleep with.”

“No, just to Draco. He’s well-aware of that, by the way, and it makes him even more convinced that every shitty thing you said to him was true.”

“I,” started Harry, although he wasn’t sure what he was planning to say. He knew he couldn’t defend himself. He’d felt awful about how he treated Draco for years now.

“Shut up,” said Blaise. “All I’m saying is this: if he winds up on my doorstep again, hyperventilating into a paper bag because you reminded him that his father doesn’t love him, I will personally take you to court and ensure he gets sole custody.”

It was an empty threat, and they both knew it. No one would give Draco custody, if Harry wanted Cassie for himself. 

“I know I was a shit to him in eighth year,” said Harry.

“That makes two of us. _Draco_ thinks you treated him just as he deserved.”

“I know,” said Harry unhappily. “I’m trying to make it up to him, okay?”

Blaise began mixing himself a cocktail from a shiny bar cart. He did not offer Harry one. 

“As if you could make it up to him,” he said, under his breath. 

“Fine. Whatever,” said Harry. “But you’ll back me up if I suggest this to him? The whole marriage thing?”

“Yes,” said Blaise. “I will.”

“Okay. Well. Good,” said Harry, feeling light-headed. “I’m going to marry Draco Malfoy.”

“ _If_ he says yes.”

“Yes. If.”

It was a big if. 


	8. Chapter 8

“I take back every nasty thing I’ve ever said about Hermione Granger,” announced Draco, when Harry came into his cell the next day.

“Yeah?” asked Harry, unpacking the full cooked lunch he had brought. He laid out the plates on the floor and Draco began to eat without seeming to notice he was doing so.

“She’s managed to move my trial up,” said Draco. “It’s in two days! And she says they have no case against me, and they’ll have to let me go. If all goes well, I should be home by the weekend!” 

“That’s brilliant,” said Harry.

“Yeah,” said Draco happily. He suddenly seemed to notice the food. “What’s all this?”

“Lunch?” 

“Hm. How’s Cass?”

“I tried to take her to the National Portrait Gallery the other day. She wasn’t having any of it.”

“She’s a very boring person, really,” said Draco fondly. “Must be your side of the family.”

“I’m not boring!”

“You’re a bit boring.”

“I’m the Chosen One!”

“Blah, blah, blah.”

“I defeated the Dark Lord!”

Draco yawned.

“I have a secret love child with my greatest rival!”

“Now, see, _that’s_ interesting,” said Draco, grinning.

Harry smiled back at him and was suddenly aware that he _liked_ visiting Draco. He looked forward to it.

He straightened his face. He wasn’t there to enjoy himself. He was there to convince Draco to marry him.

“So, I have a sort of… proposition,” he said. 

“Oh?”

“Yeah. Er. There’s not really a good way to say this.” He took a deep breath. “I think we should get married.”

Draco very carefully finished swallowing his mouthful of bread roll.

“I need more information, please,” he said.

“Right, yeah, er, well, we’ve got to think about Cassie, and, er, what’s right for her—”

“Merlin, Harry,” said Draco. “I thought _I_ was supposed to be the old-fashioned pureblood out of the two of us.”

“I’m serious, Draco.”

“You’ve been talking to Pansy.”

“Blaise.”

“Even worse.” Draco stood, wrapping the cloak Harry had given him around himself. He looked upset. “No. Absolutely not.”

“Why not?”

“Call me old-fashioned, but I’d quite like to get married for love.”

“Have you thought about what the press is going to say, when it comes out that Cassie is mine?”

Draco frowned at the floor.

“Of course I have. I’ll get a few howlers; strengthen the wards on the flat. I’ve dealt with bad press before, you know.”

“How do you think it will make Cassie feel?”

Draco glared at him.

“Don’t use Cassie to manipulate me.”

“Listen to me,” said Harry, ignoring what he knew was a pretty fair point. “We get married, and the whole narrative changes. I don’t want you to be a pariah your whole life, and Cassie sure as hell doesn’t either.” 

Draco jerked his chin up in an expression that Harry recognised, bizarrely, from Cassie. It was the expression she made when her defences were crumbling. 

“What do _you_ get out of this?” asked Draco.

“Things are complicated enough between me and Cass without the press pitting you and me against each other. Whose side do you think she’ll take, if the whole world turns on you? She’ll blame me. You know she will.”

Draco bit his lip.

“How long would this sham marriage last?”

“It would have to be two years, minimum. Anything less and people will say it was just a mistake.”

Draco appeared to be thinking hard. He dug his hands deep into the pockets of Harry’s cloak. When he finally spoke, he was brisk and business-like.

“I’ll do it on one condition.”

“What?”

“We don’t sleep with other people.” He looked away from Harry uncomfortably. “I’ve already tried the discreet-open-relationship thing with Blaise. I didn’t much like it.”

“Um,” said Harry. “But you and I… _we_ won’t be…”

“You can fuck me occasionally, if you really need… a release,” said Draco stiffly.

“That’s not really, er,” said Harry, his throat dry. “That doesn’t sound all that… er. Mutual?”

“That’s my condition. Take it or leave it.”

“Yeah, okay,” said Harry. “Faithful, platonic two-year marriage. Deal.” He held out his hand. Draco stared at it for a moment, then shook it. “What do we tell Cassie?”

“The truth,” said Draco. “She’ll figure it out, anyway. I assume we’ll be moving in together?”

Harry nodded, trying not to show how excited he was that Draco had said yes. Draco didn’t seem exactly thrilled, after all. Harry wondered when Draco had fallen out of love with him. Had he even really been in love with him? Or did he just quite fancy people who treated him badly? Maybe he only felt a natural fascination for Harry, as Cassie’s father. At least, Harry assumed it was natural to feel utterly entranced by the father of your child, because that was certainly how _he_ felt about Draco.

“I’ll talk to Cassie,” said Draco. “Don’t _you_ mention it.”

“Sure, yeah.” Harry smiled. “So you’ll marry me?”

“Don’t grin at me like that. It’s hardly a love match.”

“I know,” said Harry. “Still. We’re going to live together. I’ll see Cassie every day. It’s pretty exciting.”

“That’s one way of looking at it,” muttered Draco. 

“Oh— here,” said Harry, pulling out a velvet box. “Ring.”

“Oh,” said Draco, going pink. He opened the box and stared. Harry hadn’t spent all that long picking it out that morning—he hadn’t had to. It had jumped out at him. It was a glittering emerald set in buttery yellow gold.

“It was expensive,” Harry informed him.

“I can see that.”

“You can return it, if you don’t like it.”

“No, I—no. Thank you.”

Draco put it on. It made his long fingers look even more graceful than usual. 

“I’ll bring you the Hermes scarf thing tomorrow,” said Harry.

“Cravat. You don’t actually have to woo me, Potter. This is a business venture.”

“I’m not wooing. I’m grovelling.”

“Oh,” said Draco, sounding surprised. He couldn’t take his eyes off the ring. “In that case. Proceed.”

  
The Hermes cravat was eye-wateringly expensive. Harry had never spent that much money on anything in his life. He took the orange bag and went straight to the Ministry.

Draco opened it with a wary look. Harry had picked a deep blue silk pattern. It looked like water in Draco’s fingers.

“Potter…” he said, his voice a little hoarse, and Harry suddenly understood what was so great about being filthy rich. Not just comfortable, not just secure, but _rich_. Because he could buy things that made Draco sound like _that_. “I was sort of joking about this.”

“You don’t like it?”

“No, I like—it’s—” Draco cleared his throat.

“You really do like gifts,” said Harry, in wonder.

“It’s nice to be thought of,” said Draco. “But this is too much.” He put the cravat away. “You should return it.”

“Please keep it.”

“It probably cost more than my rent, Potter.”

“Try it on.”

“It doesn’t really go with what I’m wearing,” protested Draco, but he wrapped the cravat around his collar and tied it with nimble fingers.

“How does it look?”

“Uh,” said Harry, feeling that the cell was much hotter than he remembered it being, “good. You look good.”

Draco rolled his eyes.

“You’re a such shit liar, Potter.” He put the cravat back in its box, folded the luxuriant tissue paper over it. “I’m serious, I can’t keep this. It’s kind of you—well, more funny than anything else.”

“It would make me feel better if you kept it,” said Harry.

Draco observed him for a moment.

“All right. Thank you.” 

They smiled at each other.

“How’s Cassie?” asked Draco.

“She’s well. She has Blaise wrapped around her little finger, doesn’t she?”

“Yeah,” said Draco. “He’s a sucker. Always falling prey to Malfoy wiles.”

“She’s excited about the trial.”

“Excited?”

“Nervous.”

“Mhm,” said Draco. “Well, it’s in Granger’s capable hands.”

“Yeah,” said Harry. “But you know, if anything goes wrong, I’ll keep fighting to get you out.”

“I should have had a kid with you ages ago,” said Draco. “Would have made sixth year so much simpler, having you on my side.”

Harry laughed uncomfortably.

“Oh, relax,” said Draco. “Tragedy + time, remember?”

“Right,” said Harry. “You’re pretty well-adjusted, you know.”

“It’s a thin facade,” said Draco. “You should see the inside of my head. Absolute mayhem.”

“What shall I bring you tomorrow?” asked Harry, because he couldn’t tell if Draco was joking.

“Isn’t the point of gifts that you thought about it?”

“Cufflinks? I feel like fancy twats love cufflinks.”

“Potter, look at me. Do I seem like I live a very _cufflinks and cravats_ lifestyle? I’m wearing second hand pants.”

Trying not to think about Draco’s pants, Harry ploughed on.

“Yeah, but marriage is a lifestyle change, isn’t it? You realise I’m quite well off?”

“I’m not trying to steal your money,” said Draco quickly.

“I know you’re not. I’m trying to _give_ it to you. Keep up.”

Draco put his face in his hands. 

“Cufflinks are fine.”

  
Cassie helped Harry pick out a simple pair of cufflinks, white gold. He had Draco’s initials engraved in them. It was amazing how fun shopping could be when you had a goal in mind. The goal, of course, being to render Draco speechless. 

Harry was dimly aware that he was supposed to be buying gifts as a form of repentance, not to make Draco blush.

“How’s Cass?” asked Draco, the moment Harry walked in.

“Good. Lot of nervous energy.”

“She’s probably worried about tomorrow,” said Draco. He looked nervous himself. He was chewing on the inside of his cheek, and his fingers were red from where he had gnawed at the nails.

“It’ll be fine,” said Harry. “Blaise and I are going over to Pansy’s to keep her company. You can floo in the moment you’re free.”

“You and… Blaise?”

“The whole marriage thing has endeared me to him, I think. Catch!” 

Harry threw the velvet box at Draco, who plucked it neatly out of the air.

“This is stupid,” he told Harry, but his cheeks were flushed, and his eyes bright.

“You’re like a magpie,” said Harry. Draco opened the box.

“Shiny,” he said. 

“Cassie helped pick them.” 

“Oh,” said Draco. 

“You can return them, if you like.”

Draco shook his head. 

“No, they’re, they’re good. Good, ah, good choice.” He looked a little drunk. On gifts. It was absurdly charming, and he clearly had no idea. 

“So you like them?”

Draco nodded.

“What shall I get you next?” asked Harry.

“I don’t know what your game is here, Potter.”

“Oh, just trying to buy my way out of the problem.”

“What is the problem?”

“Crushing regret?”

“You don’t owe me anything, Harry. Cassie’s the one you should be buying cufflinks.”

“I’d do it, if I thought that would work.” Harry paused. “I gave her my invisibility cloak.”

“Well, that was irresponsible,” said Draco.

“She was quite touched.” 

Draco snorted.

“You fool. She was probably just lost in thought, hatching up _schemes_.”

“It’s good for kids to go on adventures.”

“Adventures? Is that what you call killing a basilisk when you were twelve?”

“That basilisk was blind by the time I got to him. I was barely in danger.”

“Salazar save me,” said Draco. “Well. It was thoughtful of you to give her a family heirloom. I’m sure it meant a great deal to her.”

“I think it did. Listen, I have to get back to work. I’ll see you after your trial tomorrow, yeah?”

Draco tensed.

“One way or another.”

“Draco.”

Draco looked up.

“It’s going to be okay.”

Draco tore his eyes from Harry’s. They came to rest, rather comically, back on the cufflinks. 

“I know,” he said. “It always is, if you zoom out enough.”


	9. Chapter 9

  
Harry was very glad to have Blaise with him, the morning of Draco’s trial. Blaise burst into Pansy’s house like the magician from _The Nutcracker_ , with several elaborate toys and platter of cupcakes.

After half an hour, however, Cassie’s eyes had started to flick constantly towards the fireplace.

“What time is it?” she asked.

“Cassie. He’ll come when he comes,” said Pansy. 

“It’s going to be okay,” said Harry. To his surprise, Cassie came and sat next to him— right next to him, her shoulder pressing up against his. He hesitantly put his arm around her. She leant into him, and he squeezed her. Pansy and Blaise exchanged looks. 

“You’ll get him out?” asked Cassie. “Even if… even if it’s not today?”

She had been much warmer towards him since he’d given her the cloak, but it occurred to him that it was more than the gift. He had got Draco safely back to his cell, the day she broke in. He had dealt with the ministry alarm. Clearly, this action had convinced Cassie that he wasn’t trying to harm Draco. That, and whatever it was that Draco had said to her, before Harry found them. 

“I’ll quit the aurors if they don’t let him go,” he told her.

“Oh, will you both stop being so _gloomy_ ,” said Blaise. “Let’s play the Latin phrases game.”

“That doesn’t sound fun,” said Harry.

 _“Dulce et decorum est pro patria mori!”_ cried Cassie.

 _“Ad hominum,”_ said Pansy.

 _“Veni, vidi, vici!”_ said Cassie. 

“I’m sorry, what are the rules of this game?” asked Harry.

“List all the Latin phrases you know,” said Blaise.

“That’s not a game! That’s showing off!”

 _“Ad nauseam,”_ said Pansy.

 _“Alma mater,”_ said Blaise.

 _“Carpe diem?”_ tried Harry. 

“There,” said Blaise. “Aren’t you having fun now?”

Harry thought the game couldn’t possibly last more than twenty minutes, but an hour later, they were still at it. 

_“E pluribus unum,”_ said Cassie, her eyes fixed on the fireplace. 

“We’ve already had that one,” said Pansy.

 _“In loco parentis,”_ said Cassie. 

“What does that mean?” asked Harry. As the game had progressed, they had soon reached the limits of his Latin vocabulary. 

“In the place of a parent,” said Cassie. “Aunt Pansy is _in loco parentis_ when Father is gone.”

 _“Ad astra,”_ said Blaise quickly. “To the stars!”

Cassie cuddled closer into Harry. 

“New game, Blaise?” suggested Harry. 

“Well, we’re definitely still missing some obvious ones, but fine. Have you ever played the lunch game? You just replace the word ‘love’ in songs, with ‘lunch’.”

“You realise these aren’t real games, yeah?”

“I’ll go first. ‘A Cauldron Full of Hot, Strong Lunch.’”

Just then, green flames leapt up in the fireplace. Cassie disentangled herself from Harry and sprang to her feet.

Hermione came tumbling out of the hearth, Draco Malfoy draped over her, grinning from ear to ear.

“All hail the conquering lawyer!” he cried.

“Father!” 

Cassie plunged towards him, but stopped a foot away.

“Hello, monster,” said Draco.

“You’re free?”

“As a bird.”

They looked at each other. Cassie nodded, and then Draco nodded, and then they both smiled. Harry had thought it was magic, when he first saw them do that, but he thought he understood what they silently asked each other, this time: _Are you okay? Are we okay?_

Hermione broke the spell by giving Draco a fierce hug.

“Congratulations, Draco.”

Draco hugged her back just as tightly. 

“You were absolutely brilliant,” he said. “I think they were half of a mind to put the judge in prison, once you were done with him.”

“You did everything perfectly. You were so calm,” said Hermione. Blaise and Pansy had reached Draco now, and were thumping him on the back, congratulating him. Harry hovered near Cassie. He noticed that Draco had not been able to resist wearing the ring Harry had given him, just not on his ring finger. It made Harry smile.

 _“Allez, on va à la maison?”_ said Draco to Cassie, finally. 

“Just us two?”

“Is that all right?” 

He asked Cassie, not Harry. 

“Yes,” said Cassie. 

“All right. Let’s ditch these losers.”

He shrugged himself free of Hermione, grinned at Harry, and went to the fireplace. Cassie went to stand beside him. At the last moment, when the green flames burst up, and they surely thought no one could see them, they fell towards each other in an embrace that was like magnets clicking together.

  
_Dear Potter,_

_Thank you for the pocket watch. It’s baffling to me that you’ve had good taste all along and simply refused to exercise it._

_D. Malfoy_

_Dear Potter_

_This is a very nice chess set. Did you mean to get me such a nice chess set? Cass and I have played three games already. She’s going to tell you she beat me but she’s a lying little liar and you mustn’t believe a word she says._

_We’ve barely left the house. It’s been lovely. Just me and The Monster, catching up._

_D. Malfoy_

  
_Dear Harry,_

_Italian leather shoes? I suppose Blaise gave you my size. Just how long can I expect this lavish remorse of yours to last, exactly?_

_I appreciate that you haven’t asked to see Cassie. I swear we’ll reach out soon. We just need a minute._

_D. Malfoy_

  
_Dear Harry,_

_I can only assume you and Blaise are shopping up a storm. Thank you for the cashmere jumper._

_If you’re still serious about the whole… marriage thing, I’ll talk to Cass about it tomorrow._

_Draco_

  
_Dear Harry,_

_There’s something wrong with the wallet you sent. It seems to have limitless money in it? Cass keeps pulling galleons out and is building a tower of coins. She’s crowing like anything. Merlin, she’d be terrifying if she got any degree of political power._

_I can only assume you’ve connected the wallet to your Gringotts account, which is a discussion we’ll have to have, surely? Speaking of discussions, talked to Cass about us getting married. She’s on board. Don’t worry, she knows it’s not real. She’s excited to live with you. She claims your house is big enough for us to move in; apparently she checked it out with all the thoroughness of real estate agent when she forcibly visited you there._

_It’s all a bit strange, isn’t it? Writing to you. And sending the letter afterwards, I mean. I keep getting tricked into openness because I’m in the habit of writing to you candidly. Fuck, like that. Saying that sort of thing. Right. Sorry._

_Cass is going back to school tomorrow. (I let her take a few days off because she’s had a tough go of it these last few weeks.) Coffee sometime tomorrow?_

_D. Malfoy_

_Dear Harry,_

_I literally don’t know what to say. They’re the most beautiful set of robes I’ve ever seen. Thank you. I’ll see you in a couple of hours._

_Draco_

  
If Harry had realised Draco was going to _wear_ the robes, he might not have picked quite such a flattering cut. Draco swept into the coffee shop where they’d arranged to meet looking like some kind of wizard prince. The robes were a silvery grey that made his skin look like porcelain. They nipped in at the wrists, collected by the white gold cufflinks. Cassie was with him, and kept glancing admiringly up at him. Harry could relate. He was almost surprised when they deigned to sit with him. Everyone in the coffee shop was watching Draco, agog. 

“We should have gone to a muggle establishment,” said Draco, his face cold and forbidding. “People are staring.”

“Hello Cassie! I didn’t expect you to come,” said Harry. 

“I assumed—” said Draco, and Harry wondered what, exactly, he had assumed. That Harry couldn’t possibly want to talk to him alone?

“Anyway, they’re staring at you because you look like something out of a fashion shoot, not because of who you are,” said Harry. 

Draco rolled his eyes.

“Don’t make fun. You picked the robes, after all.”

“I’m not making fun! _You_ like them, right, Cass?”

“I think they’re wonderful,” said Cassie reverently. “Can you imagine if Sasha’s dad saw you? He’d probably faint.”

“He’d be surprised to see a man in a dress,” said Draco.

“Sasha’s dad?” asked Harry. 

“He has a huge crush on father. Has for years,” said Cassie. “And he’s sooo handsome.”

“He’s too nice,” said Draco, catching the waitress’ eye. She came over as if he had cast a summoning spell, and didn’t even seem to notice Harry. _I could get used to this,_ thought Harry. It was nice not to be treated like some kind of divine apparition by the wait staff. 

“Pot of earl grey for the table,” said Draco, and Harry was reminded that Draco had grown up with money; knew how to spend it effortlessly, “and a chocolate eclair for this young lady, if you please.”

“Of course,” said the waitress, smiling coyly before hurrying into the kitchen. 

“Too nice?” prompted Harry. Draco was staring after the waitress, a small crease between his eyebrows.

“I know,” he said. “She must not have recognised me. She’s young, I suppose…”

“Not the waitress! Sasha’s dad! The handsome muggle hunk who’s been pining after you all this time.”

Cassie snorted. 

“What?” said Draco. “Oh, Stanislaus. Well, as I said, he’s too nice. Puts me on edge. Can’t be myself, around innocents.”

Harry remembered what Blaise had said, about Draco not feeling seen unless people were treating him badly. 

“Aren’t _I_ an innocent?” inquired Cassie.

“Don’t be absurd. You’ve got guilt written all over you. I don’t even know what you’ve done yet, but I’m sure it’s terrible,” said Draco. 

“Father’s just in a mood because I keep beating him at chess.”

“You monstrous little liar!”

“I thought we could discuss the wedding, maybe,” said Harry, because he could see that Cassie and Draco were gearing up for a lengthy exchange of insults. 

“Still doing that, are we?”

“Sooner rather than later,” said Harry. “There have been a few nasty stories about your trial in _The Prophet_ , and I’d like to head off any more.” 

“Right, shall we pop over to the town hall this afternoon, then?” said Draco sarcastically.

“It needs to be a proper wedding. The Weasleys have said we can have it at the Burrow, but I don’t know if—”

“ _The Weasleys?_ You told them?”

“Well, not _everything_ ,” said Harry. “Not that… that it’s arranged.”

Draco’s eyes were so wide that he looked quite mad.

“They think you’ve _fallen in love with me?”_

“Yeah. I mean, apart from Ron and Hermione.”

“And they just… believed you?”

Harry decided against summarising the conversation he’d had with Mr. and Mrs. Weasley, in which he had found himself earnestly listing all the things he liked about Draco until Ron put a hand on his arm and said “I think they’ve got it, mate.”

“Yep,” said Harry. “But as I said, we don’t have to do the Burrow— I mean, it would be meaningful for me, but I’m flexible—”

“Dear God,” said Draco. “You actually mean to go through with this.”

“…did you think I didn’t?”

“Obviously!”

“I told you,” said Cassie smugly to Draco. “I told you he was serious.”

“Little children should be seen but not heard,” snapped Draco. 

“Earl grey and a chocolate eclair?” said the waitress.

“Thank you,” said Draco. 

“Do let me know if I can do anything else for you,” said the waitress, smiling at Draco in what Harry thought was an unprofessionally flirtatious manner.

“That’s all, thanks,” said Harry shortly. The waitress left. 

“The Burrow’s fine,” said Draco. “They’re going to poison my wine, though.”

“That’s more your thing, isn’t it?”

Draco glared at him.

“Sorry,” said Harry. “Couldn’t resist. Right, who do you want to invite?”

Draco groaned.

“Uncle Blaise, Aunt Pansy, Millie Bulstrode, Greg Goyle, and the Greengrass sisters,” said Cassie promptly. “And can Sasha come?”

“Yes,” said Draco. “No. You know, I don’t know how we can be expected not to look down on muggles when Wizarding society as whole treats them like such shit.” 

“I could ask Sasha _and_ her dad,” said Cassie, with a knowing look.

“Please don’t use our wedding to set Draco up with strange men,” said Harry.

“He isn’t strange!” said Cassie innocently. “He and Father meet up for drinks all the time!”

“We’re friends,” said Draco. 

“Mr. Resnikoff fancies the pants off him,” Cassie told Harry confidingly.

“I’m not shagging Stanislaus, Cassie. You know, _normal_ little girls aren’t this invested in their parents’ sex lives.”

“You should see the way they look at each other,” Cassie told Harry, reminding him inexorably of Peeves the Poltergeist.

“If you’re not careful, Cass, I _will_ shag him,” said Draco. “In the flat.”

Cassie narrowed her eyes.

“You wouldn’t _dare_.”

_“Try me.”_

“Hilarious as this game is,” interrupted Harry, “you can’t shag Stanislaus. We had a deal, remember?”

Draco looked at Harry as if he was only just remembering he was there.

“Not until the wedding, I thought?”

“Which I was thinking should be this Saturday,” said Harry. Mrs. Weasley had asked for a month’s notice, but _fucking hell_. Harry had forgotten this feeling, this itchy anxiety that had pushed him to stare at Draco’s dot on the map for hours in eighth year. It was worse now, much worse, because back then he had at least been able to _pretend_ it was because he thought Draco was up to something, whereas now it was transparently jealousy.

“Saturday, sure,” said Draco, sounding slightly manic. “Don’t think I had any other plans, so I may as well just marry you.”

“Draco…we don’t _have_ to do this,” said Harry, watching in consternation as Draco spooned half the sugar bowl into his tea. _He doesn’t even take sugar in his tea_ , thought Harry wildly, and how did he know that? “Are you… okay?”

“Fine, fine,” said Draco, clanging his tea spoon against his cup as he vigorously stirred yet another spoonful of sugar into it. Cassie laughed and flicked a rubber band at him. 

“Stop it,” she said. “Don’t be such a coward.”

He threw her look of deep disdain.

“Cass, how do _you_ feel about the whole… wedding thing?” asked Harry.

“I think it’s brilliant,” said Cassie. “I’ll get to live in that lovely big house with you and watch you try to seduce Father.”

Draco picked up the sugar bowl and poured the remaining sugar into his tea, which was rapidly turning into sludge. 

“I—” stammered Harry. 

“Have you brought him a gift for today?” asked Cassie. 

“They’re apology gifts,” said Harry.

“Ignore her, Potter, she’s just stirring the pot,” said Draco. He took a sip of his sugary tea sludge and shuddered. Harry switched cups with him.

“Well, I did bring something, but it’s only small.” He passed Draco a box of chocolates from Honeydukes. Draco stared at the box for a long time before tracing the letters with one trembling hand, which Harry found a bit dramatic, but also completely adorable. 

“I liked these, in school,” said Draco.

“I know; your mother used to send them.”

Draco lifted his eyes to the ceiling.

“Shit,” said Harry. “I didn’t think. I mean, I did, but I thought you would like them. I’m sorry.”

“I like them,” said Draco, still looking at the ceiling. Cassie swiped the box, opened it, and ate a chocolate. 

“They’re good,” she pronounced, which seemed to startle Draco into action.

“I have to go,” he said. “I’m meeting Stanislaus later and I have to change first.”

“I’ll stay with Dad,” said Cassie. “If that’s okay?”

“Yeah,” said Harry. “Brilliant. Enjoy Stanislaus.”

“Don’t you start.”

Harry, and everyone else in the coffee shop, stared as Draco stalked out the door. 


	10. Chapter 10

In the days leading up to the wedding, Draco was never around. 

_I’m trying to make sense of all the damaged potions stock_ , he wrote. 

“I take it you don’t want to go on a honeymoon?” asked Harry, the one time they successfully met up. If Draco’s eyes could have popped out of his skull, they would have. 

“Good grief!”

“I think it’s a great idea,” chimed in Cassie. “Can we go to Verdun? I’d like to see the German trenches.”

“That’s a bit morbid for a honeymoon, Cass,” said Harry. 

“We’re not going on a honeymoon!” said Draco. “Christ alive!”

  
Every day, Harry sent Draco a new gift. Every day, Draco answered him with a thank you letter, sometimes short and harried ( _Do you have any idea how hard it is to procure fresh shrivelfigs when it’s not a leap year? Thanks for the dressing gown, I’m wearing it now.)_ and sometimes longer and more rambling ( _…so, yes, I did end up using some of the coins from the stupid wallet you gave me—which I love, by the way, the green snakeskin lining was a thoughtful touch—and so if it was some sort of stupid test to see if I would resist, then I failed. It was only on groceries, anyway. And also fuck you for setting tests! Unless you didn’t, and I sound like a crazy person right now. Actually, I haven’t been sleeping, so I do feel a little crazy. Cass says I look as if I aged thirty years while I was in custody. Isn’t she a charmer? She’s sitting next to me now, colouring in a battleship. Who makes battleship colouring books? What sort of mad, jingoistic propaganda is she submitting herself to? Anyway, she is sticking her tongue out a bit as she concentrates, which is something you used to do when you worked in the library at school. I love her I love her. Fucking hell, I didn’t mean to write any of that_ …).

Whatever Draco wrote, it was always so undeniably Draco-ish that Harry felt like he was there, sitting next to him, listening to Draco griping about Cassie and potions and Cassie again. And it was good, reassuring, to know that Draco sent the letters, even when he felt he had revealed too much of himself in them. 

  
On Saturday morning, Harry was struck by a sudden fear that this was all a terrible idea. The Burrow was splendidly decorated. It looked just as it had for Bill and Fleur’s wedding, and Harry wandered round the marquis with his hands in his dress robe pockets, trying to decide how he felt. Concerned, primarily, he decided. Not for himself, but for Draco, who had wanted to marry for love. 

He sent a patronus looking for him. A few minutes later, a great silver bear came pacing towards him. 

“I’ll come find you,” it said, in Draco’s voice. 

Draco appeared shortly after. He was wearing the grey robes Harry had given him. The effect was not diminished.

“A bear?” asked Harry.

“I think it’s a polar bear,” said Draco.

“They’re protective of their young, I guess.” _And cold, and beautiful, and endangered_ , he did not add. 

“You sounded panicked in your message,” said Draco.

“Just… are you sure you want to do this?”

Draco clenched his jaw.

“Fuck’s sake,” he muttered. “Fine, we can call it off. But I wish you’d had your cold feet earlier; Goyle had to buy a portkey specially.”

“I don’t want to call it off,” said Harry. “I just…” he took a step closer to Draco. “I keep thinking about Stanislaus, honestly.”

“Jealous, Potter?” smirked Draco.

“No! But. I don’t want to stand in the way of you finding a real relationship.”

Draco sighed.

“I’m not interested in Stanislaus. Cass just said all that to wind you up.”

“Okay, fine, not Stanislaus. But someone.”

“I’m not interested,” said Draco.

“You said you wanted to get married for love.”

Draco fiddled with his cufflinks. 

“Harry…”

“We could find some other way to deal with the press, if we really thought about it,” said Harry.

“Do you want to call it off?”

Harry was drawn up short.

“No,” he said, honestly. “No, I’m looking forward to living together.”

Draco’s eyebrows flew up.

“What?” said Harry. “We get on. It’s been ages since I had a housemate. And _God_ , do I want to live with Cassie.”

“It’s not all it’s cracked up to be,” said Draco. “You’ll want to abandon her by the roadside before the end of the week.”

“So you’re sure about this.”

“I am.”

“Okay,” said Harry. “You look amazing, by the way.”

Draco blushed furiously red.

“Fuck off.”

“I thought you liked compliments?”

“Genuine ones,” said Draco. “I don’t like being patronised.”

“I wasn’t patronising you!”

“If you’re done having your little freak-out, I’m going back to the flat. I have to wrestle Cassie into a party dress and I anticipate that force will be necessary.”

“Okay,” said Harry. “I’ll see you later, then.”

Draco nodded and disapparated. 

  
Harry was just heading back to the Burrow when Percy accosted him.

“Harry,” he said, “a word.”

Harry had a feeling he knew what was coming.

“Yes, Percy?”

“It’s not too late for you to back out of this sordid little event,” said Percy. “I realise you believe you’re doing the honourable thing, but no one expects you to marry a bloody Death Eater. I assure you, even going so far as to admit the child is yours will be more than enough in the eyes of the public.”

Ron came jogging towards them.

“Percy, I told you to leave it alone,” he said. 

“I’m marrying Draco because I want to,” said Harry.

“Harry, everyone knows you like to save people,” said Percy, in a fatherly tone. “But this is really going too far.”

“I’m not trying to save him. I love him,” said Harry, easily. A little too easily, he reflected. 

“He’s a _Death Eater_ , Harry!”

“He’s Cassie’s father,” said Ron, “so I advise you to shut the fuck up.”

“I have to say my piece. I don’t want Harry to wake up tomorrow morning, filled with regret because he’s chained to a worthless war criminal—”

Ron punched Percy in the face. Not very hard, but enough so that Percy shrieked in outrage and stormed away, muttering something about How He Was Just Trying To Help.

“Thanks, mate,” said Harry.

“You’d think he’d learn not to be such a prat, after all these years,” said Ron.

“Thank you,” said Cassie, appearing suddenly from under the invisibility cloak. 

“Cassie!” said Harry. “How long have you been under there?”

Cassie shrugged.

“I’d really prefer it if you didn’t spy on me,” said Harry.

Cassie turned to Ron. 

“Thank you for standing up for my father,” she said. 

“Anytime,” said Ron. Cassie held out her hand. Ron shook it solemnly. 

“You’d better go home, Cass,” said Harry.

“I can’t. Father’s trying to make me wear a dress I don’t like.”

“You wear dresses all the time.”

“Aunt Pansy picked it.”

Harry remembered the salmon pink thing she had worn to the Yule Ball.

“Pink, is it?”

“Very.”

“Put it on, and I’ll transfigure it into another colour.”

Cassie thought for moment, then nodded.

“Deal,” she said.

  
Two hours later, Harry was standing in front of an altar with Draco, who couldn’t seem to stop fiddling with the edges of his sleeves. 

Harry watched him as he said all the vows. It was a little surreal, hearing Draco say them back.

He wasn’t in love with him. He wasn’t. But he had a feeling that wouldn’t last much longer. 

“I now declare you husbands,” said the minister. 

Oh, right, thought Harry. It was time to kiss. He leant slightly forward, and Draco’s eyes widened in alarm. Harry was suddenly reminded of the times they had kissed in eighth year, when Harry would smash his mouth angrily into Draco’s, in between whispered threats and insults.

“Okay?” he asked Draco, now. Draco nodded almost imperceptibly. 

Harry put a hand on the back of Draco’s neck and pulled him gently forward, so that their lips could touch. It was a delicate, soft little kiss. Draco tentatively responded, his hands going to rest on Harry’s ribs. Draco broke away first. People were cheering, but Harry barely noticed. He searched Draco’s face for a reaction.

“Different,” said Draco.

Harry laughed, feeling a little giddy. 

“Yeah.”

They sat next to each other at the wedding dinner. Cassie was further down the table, next to Teddy Lupin. 

“Do you think they’re getting on?” asked Harry. 

Draco observed them for a moment. Cassie wore her most superior expression, and Teddy looked a little put out.

“She’s trying to impress him,” said Draco. “Do you remember when we met in Madam Malkin’s?”

Harry laughed.

“Yes. You were insufferable.”

“I’m afraid to say that appears to be the approach Cassie is taking now.”

“Well, maybe if Teddy gets to know her a little better, he’ll see that’s she’s actually pretty great, under all that arrogant posturing.”

“Hmm,” said Draco, looking at his from under his eyelashes. “And how long do you think it will be before he gets through her defences?”

“Twenty years, give or take?”

“By that reasoning, you should be coming to some positive conclusions about me by the time I’m thirty-one.”

“I said give or take,” said Harry.

“Meaning?”

“Come on, Draco, you know I think you’re pretty great.”

Draco blushed, downed his champagne, and turned to speak to Blaise. 

It was certainly the strangest wedding Harry had ever been to, and Harry had attended Luna’s self-bonding ritual in Tibet. Goyle and Susan Bones slow-danced through every song, regardless of tempo. Blaise made a beeline for Ginny, and if Harry wasn’t mistaken, had successfully seduced her within half an hour. Hermione and Astoria Greengrass retreated to a corner and spoke earnestly together for the entire party, while Ron let Cassie stand on his feet and dance with him. Draco, meanwhile, danced frantically with anyone who asked, downing alcohol and casting frequent, anxious glances at Harry whenever he spoke to anyone who wasn’t a Slytherin. Mr. Weasley made a baffling speech about how he could never have predicted it, but this was the happiest he’d seen Harry in years, and that he trusted his judgment. Blaise made a speech in which he heavily implied that Draco was pregnant again, so that Harry had to spend fifteen minutes promising Hermione that he and Draco hadn’t slept together when Draco was in the ministry holding cell. 

All in all, it was a strange affair, and Harry found himself wondering what it would have been like if it was a _real_ wedding; if they had slow-danced together like Goyle and Susan Bones, if the glances Draco had thrown him had been full of heat, instead of fear.

  
By ten p.m., Cassie was passed out on a bench. Harry sidled over to Draco, who was extraordinarily drunk, and pointed at her.

“Lightweight,” said Draco. 

“Let’s go home,” said Harry.

Draco laughed, resting his head on Harry’s shoulder.

 _“Mid pleasures and palaces though we may roam,_  
 _Be it ever so humble, there’s no place like home!”_ he quoted.

“You’re a bit drunk, mate,” said Harry.

Draco drew himself up.

“Thou pickled egg! How dar’st thou cast aspersions upon my sobriety!”

“Of course you’re a pretentious fucking drunk,” said Harry.

“Pretentious? _Moi?”_

“Come on, let’s get you to bed.”

“Ahh, the mystery unravels,” slurred Draco. “Sex. That’s what this is all about, isn’t it?”

“Just how much did you drink?”

“You want to know a secret?” Draco leant in to Harry’s ear and lowered his voice to a sultry whisper. “I would have let you. I did last time, didn’t I? There weren’t gifts and a wedding, then.”

Harry wanted to pull away, but at the same time, Draco’s breath on his skin was making him prickle deliciously all over. Draco laughed softly. 

“How come you didn’t get me a gift, today?” he asked.

“You haven’t seen your bedroom yet,” said Harry. Draco laid his palm flat on Harry’s chest and smiled.

“Oh, is that the grand finale? Going to take me home to a solid gold bed and fuck me sideways?”

He swayed slightly as he laughed, an unhappy sort of laughter, and Harry steadied his elbow.

“Such lengths to sleep with me, Harry! What a waste of fucking time…don’t you know?” His eyes clouded over with sadness. “I’m so fucking _easy_ for you…”

“You’ve never been easy, Draco,” Harry managed to say. 

Draco’s eyes fell on Cassie.

“Poor little thing,” he said. “I need to get her to bed.”

He did not wait for Harry. He simply walked away and collected her gently into his arms.

“Side along?” offered Harry.

“Not good for children,” murmured Draco, nuzzling the top of Cassie’s head. She slept on.

“Floo, then. Follow me.”

He led them to the nearest fireplace and told Draco the address. Draco stumbled slightly as he ducked into the hearth.

“I’ll take her,” offered Harry.

“No, no, no, no, no…”

“Okay,” said Harry, reassuringly.

“Famous Harry Potter,” drawled Draco, sounding suddenly so much like fifth-year Draco that Harry had to resist the instinct to reach for his wand. “Famous and rich and well-loved by all, but she loves me, you know, even if I was a Death Eater…”

“I’m not taking her from you, Draco.”

“Number 12 Grimmauld Place!” 

Harry hurried after him, hoping that Draco would get out at the right grate. 


	11. Chapter 11

  
When he arrived at Grimmauld Place, Cassie sat at the kitchen table, bleary-eyed, as Kreacher made her a cup of hot chocolate.

“…because, you gnarly-toothed old bint, blood purism is ideologically unsound!” came Draco’s voice from the other room.  
  
“Disgusting blood traitor! A pureblood Malfoy, denigrating his house to such an odious degree!”

“You’re dead! You’re fucking dead!”

“Repugnant weakening of the line!”

“I’ll bloody knife you in the face, you wanky bit of paint!”

Harry pushed past him and closed the curtains over Walburga Black. 

“All right, Draco?”

“Fucking Aunt Walburga,” muttered Draco.

“Cassie can hear you, you know.”

“Cassie, cover your fucking ears,” called Draco. 

“Ohhkay, let’s get you a glass of water,” said Harry, gently guiding Draco back into the kitchen. Draco fell into a chair next to Cassie. 

“Blood purity’s bollocks,” he told her.

“I’m tired,” she said.

“Poor darling,” said Draco, his voice so thick with affection that Harry could hardly stand it. “Let’s get you tucked up in bed.” He turned to Harry. “Where’s her room?”

“First door on the left, second floor.”

“ _Bon, allons-y, ma cherie_ ,” said Draco, getting to his feet.

“I can put her to bed, if you like?”

 _“Qu’est-ce-que tu veux, ma petite?”_ asked Draco.

“You,” said Cassie.

“The Monster has spoken. I’ll be back before long.”

He and Cassie left the kitchen.

“You’re drunk,” he heard Cassie say.

“Who taught you that word? I shall have them shot in the morning.”

Cassie laughed, and then Harry couldn’t hear them anymore. Excitement churned in his stomach. This was his life now. Cassie and Draco bickering like an old married couple, and _people_ in the house again. 

He was trying not to think about Draco’s drunken confession in the marquis. Plenty of people were horny drunks. It didn’t necessarily mean anything. Harry wasn’t sure whether he was reassuring himself or trying to manage expectations.

Fifteen minutes later, there came a loud series of clatters in the stairwell that re-awoke Walburga.

“Disgusting traitor to the family! Shame!”

“Oh, fuck off, you absolute cun—” 

“Draco!” interrupted Harry. Draco turned away from Walburga. His scowl was replaced by a dazzling smile.

“Harry!” he said, as if Harry was his very best friend. Harry turned quickly away to drag the curtains over Walburga’s portrait. 

“Come on,” he said, “I’ll take you to your room.”

Draco followed him up the stairs. 

“Cassie’s bedroom,” he began.

“Did she like it?”

“She… yes.”

“Blaise has been helping me with everything.”

“Harry.”

Harry stopped at the tone in Draco’s voice. They were on the landing outside Draco’s room now. Draco licked his lips, looking nervous. 

“She loved it,” he said. “It’s beautiful. It’s everything I wanted her to have.”

Harry hadn’t done much for Cassie’s bedroom. Blaise had pointed out that since Draco enjoyed decorating, he would probably want to add to it, so they had chosen high quality, simple furnishings in pale blue and white. The result was a peaceful, cheery little room, understated but comfortable. 

“You haven’t seen yours yet,” he told Draco, putting his hand on Draco’s door. Draco reached out to stop him.

“Wait,” he said. “Harry—”

He looked suddenly raw. Miserable. 

“What’s wrong?” asked Harry.

“Nothing,” he said. “I’m ready.”

He flashed Harry a quick, unconvincing smile and pushed open the door.

Harry had spent a lot of time and thought on Draco’s bedroom. He had even gone so far as to dig out some old books about Malfoy Manor to get inspiration, although in the end he had followed Blaise’s advice on everything. 

He had chosen the largest bedroom in the house, and put down a thick, velvety green carpet, the colour of moss. The carved four poster bed at the centre of the room was draped with antique green silk embroidered with gold, and the fireplace was made from imported Italian marble. Everything was cosy, neat, and luxurious. 

Draco stood with his arms by his sides, taking it all in. 

“Is it okay?” asked Harry.

“I don’t want to have sex with you,” said Draco, sounding distraught.

“Er, that’s fine?”

“Why have you done all this?”

“Because…” Harry tried to find words. “Because I wanted to?” 

Draco put his face in his hands. 

“I’m so drunk,” he said, clearly on the verge of tears. 

Harry pushed him gently towards the bed.

“Go to sleep. I’ll bring you a hangover potion in the morning.”

“I don’t want…” said Draco, stumbling towards the bed. 

Harry lit a fire in the fireplace with his wand and drew the curtains across the mullioned windows.

“What don’t you want?”

Draco kicked off his shoes and crawled under the covers. 

“I don’t want it to be like eighth year,” he said, his voice muffled.

Harry didn’t know what to say to that, because all he could think was _I’m sorry_ , and he knew that wouldn’t convince Draco of anything. 

“It won’t be,” he said, and slipped out of the room. 

The next morning, Draco did not come to breakfast. Cassie was reading a book of war poetry at the kitchen table when Harry came downstairs.

“Where’s Draco?”

“Work,” said Cassie.

“It’s Sunday!”

“He doesn’t take weekends,” said Cassie. “Can Sasha come over?”

  
Draco didn’t come home until half an hour before Cassie’s bedtime.

“You look _haggard_ ,” said Cassie. “That’s a new word I learnt, and you look it.”

“Leave him alone,” said Harry. “How come you work on weekends?”

“Why do you think, Potter? Money,” said Draco coldly. 

“Don’t we have lots of money, now?” asked Cassie.

 _“Laisse-moi tranquille, cheri,”_ said Draco. Cassie nodded and asked Harry to read her a bedtime story.

This, it transpired, was merely a front, as Harry discovered when he followed Cassie upstairs, pulled out _Alice in Wonderland_ , and tried to read.

“I’m _far_ too old to be read to,” she said, looking deeply insulted.

“But—”

“I just said that so that you would give Father space. He often needs to be alone for a bit, after work.”

“Why?”

“I don’t know,” shrugged Cassie. “I guess because he hates it so much.”

They hung out in her bedroom for a while, and then Harry insisted that she brush her teeth and go to sleep. When he came back downstairs, Draco had built a fire in the living room, and was drinking a glass of red wine.

It was a distractingly nice picture of domesticity. 

“Would you like your gift now?” asked Harry.

Draco nodded. Harry handed him the box, and Draco opened it in silence. Inside was a white gold pocket watch on a chain. Draco glanced up at him, trying to hide a smile.

“You certainly know how to get me in a good mood,” he said. 

“I couldn’t decide between white or yellow gold,” said Harry.

“It’s lovely. Did Blaise pick it out?”

“No.”

“Really? I’m impressed.”

“Draco… about last night…”

Draco waved him silent.

“Let’s agree never to talk about it. You won’t have to deal with my embarrassing lack of decorum again.”

“But—”

“ _Please_ , Harry.”

“Fine.” 

Draco relaxed into the sofa, his eye falling on the new watch.

_“CHOSEN ONE TRICKED INTO MARRIAGE BY GOLD-DIGGING DEATH EATER CLAIMING TO HAVE BIRTHED HIS CHILD,”_ said _The Prophet_ the next morning.

“Good morning,” said Draco, cheerfully passing Harry the paper. “Got any money for me to steal? Cassie’s not yours, by the way. She’s not mine, either, in fact. She’s a paid actress. We’re splitting the profit, fifty-fifty.”

“Hilarious,” said Harry. 

“I like the picture they’ve used,” said Cassie. It was of Harry and Draco kissing at their wedding. Harry noted with some discomfort that, in the picture, at least, he seemed markedly more enthusiastic about the kiss than Draco did. 

Draco looked at his pocket watch, flipping the lid open with obvious pleasure.

“Come on, Cass,” he said. “Time for school.”

Harry spent all day fending off reporters. In his lunch hour, he called a press conference, where he explained that there had been a misunderstanding when Cassie was conceived, that she was definitely his, and that he was neither under the Imperius curse nor being blackmailed.

“Are you saying you married Draco Malfoy for love, Mr. Potter?” asked a witch from _Witch Weekly._

“Yes,” said Harry.

“Our readers will find that difficult to believe!”

“Look…” Harry leant forward on the podium. “Draco and I hated each other in school. But since reconnecting with him, I have been blown away by his bravery, resilience, and generosity. He is completely different from how he was in the war, and I admire him all the more for being able to make the change.”

“So you love him?”

“Yes. I do.”

“You’re a psychopath,” Draco informed him, the next morning.

“You read the article.”

“ _I_ almost believed what you said. It was brilliant. Terrifying, but brilliant.”

The same article that had quoted Harry’s earnest speech in defence of Draco had also featured a surly picture of Draco in his potions shop. Draco had, apparently, refused comment. 

“I _did_ mean it,” protested Harry. “Most of it.”

Cassie and Draco stared at him over the breakfast things.

“I mean, you are brave and… resilient… and… all that.”

“Father’s not _brave_ ,” said Cassie. “He makes _me_ kill the wasps when they get in the flat.”

Draco was unrepentant.

“Horrid creatures,” he said, buttering a crumpet.

“He’s not that kind of brave. And you must know how resilient you are, Draco.”

Draco choked on his tea and Cassie had to thump him on the back. The slightly glazed look in his eyes reminded Harry of what he had told him: _“I go a bit weak for praise.”_

He learnt that Draco was much pickier about compliments than he was about gifts. It seemed there was nothing Harry could give Draco that he didn’t love. He was incredibly satisfying to shop for.

When Harry complimented him, however, Draco usually blushed furiously red and told him to fuck off. Only rarely did he seem to believe that Harry was being sincere. On those occasions, he would temporarily become ineloquent and bashful, in a way that Harry found utterly charming. 

  
Harry’s press conference seemed to have done the trick. The newspapers printed constant pictures of Draco at his potions shop or of him dropping Cassie off at school. They talked about how handsome he was, how well-dressed, how exemplary in his reformation. They talked about love overcoming adversity. 

Draco never mentioned the papers, except to make fun of them, but Cassie cut all the articles out and stuck them in her book. 

Weeks passed, and still Harry bought Draco a gift every day, although sometimes he wasn’t able to give it to him. Draco worked such long hours that often Harry was in bed by the time he returned.

“Did he always work like this?” he asked Cassie.

“No,” she said, but she did not expand. 

There was one advantage to Draco’s absence: Harry got to spend time alone with Cassie. Enough time that when Cassie was being a total brat one afternoon, refusing to eat her lunch and stamping her foot, Harry scolded her without worrying that he was fundamentally damaging their relationship. 

“…so I told her to go to her room,” Harry told Draco that evening. Draco had come in just before Cassie’s bedtime, exchanged a few absent-minded insults with her, and then told Harry he planned to go to bed himself.

“Wait, just have one drink with me,” Harry had said. Draco had reluctantly agreed.

“What was for lunch that she found so objectionable?” he asked.

“Nothing! Just pasta and tomato sauce!”

“Ah,” said Draco, holding his wine glass to the light. 

“What?”

Draco hesitated before speaking.

“Pasta’s 29p for 500 grams at Lidl. We ate a lot of pasta.”

“Shit,” said Harry. “Do you think I was unfair?”

“No,” said Draco. “She doesn’t usually lose her cool about things like that. I wonder why she’s acting up.”

“It’s obvious, isn’t it?” 

Draco looked at him inquiringly.

“She misses you,” said Harry.

Draco frowned and took a sip of wine.

“We hardly ever see you,” continued Harry.

“I wanted to give her time with you,” said Draco.

“Oh,” said Harry, momentarily distracted by this misguided thoughtfulness. “Well, don’t. We can spend time with her together, you know.”

“Yeah?”

“Of course!”

“Oh, of course,” repeated Draco, with a strained laugh. But he started coming home at five. 


	12. Chapter 12

  
The next few months were the happiest Harry had been since those brief, shining weeks with Ginny in sixth year. He, Cassie and Draco went on trips on the weekends, visiting strange, remote parts of England that Draco informed them were historically significant: ancient pagan barrows, medieval battle fields, crumbling manor houses where pivotal betrayals had taken place. Cassie would run wild, eagerly telling Harry half-false facts she had learnt in her homeschooling with Draco, who would gently correct her.

In the week, they all ate dinner together every day. Draco slowly began to relax around Harry. Most of the time, he was funny and agreeable, and only sometimes did a subject arise that caused him to close off. Blaise visited often, although Pansy did not. She and Draco went out by themselves, because she still didn’t like to be around Harry. Ron and Hermione came over as well. Draco got on so well with Hermione that it barely mattered that he and Ron still eyed each other warily, like feral cats in an alleyway deciding whether to fight. 

“It seems to be going well,” said Hermione, one evening, after Cassie was in bed. Draco was having drinks with Stanislaus, which Harry tried not to think about too hard. It was difficult, because he had by now _met_ Stanislaus, and knew how handsome he was. 

“Yeah,” he said. “I really think Draco is starting to settle. He seems happier, most of the time. I’d still like him to quit his job, but he doesn’t want to feel dependent, which makes sense. But we’ve been having a lot of fun together.”

“…I meant, the plan,” said Hermione. “The press. They seem to have believe that it’s a real marriage.”

“Oh,” said Harry. “Yeah. Yeah, I reckon you’re right.”

Ron and Hermione looked at each other.

“What?” asked Harry.

“Are you sure you’re not falling for him, Harry?” asked Hermione.

Harry sighed and called Cassie’s name. There was no answer. He cast a _muffliato_ , just in case. He and Draco had both developed the habit of checking for her before they spoke about anything important. 

“Yeah, maybe a bit,” he said, once he was sure she couldn’t be listening. He hoped it was a believable understatement.

“You should be careful,” said Hermione. “You can’t just casually date him, Harry. Think how complicated a break up would be. And you’re not very nice to him when you sleep with him.”

“I was eighteen! I was working through war trauma! Obviously I wouldn’t bring up his father during sex _now_.”

“Look, Malfoy’s all right, yeah?” said Ron. “And you and he and Cassie have a good thing going. You just don’t want to mess it up for a quick shag, you know?”

“Unless you’re serious about him,” said Hermione.

Harry didn’t answer. That was the thing he avoided thinking about at all costs: how serious was he? How serious was Draco?

It came up again, a few days later. Harry had continued with his daily gifts, although they varied wildly in how expensive they were. Not that this seemed to make any difference to Draco, who glowed with pleasure just as much when Harry brought him flowers as he did when Harry gave him a racing broom. 

It was Saturday, and because it was the first warm evening they’d had all winter, Cassie and Draco set up tables in the back garden. Cassie was doing a water colour portrait of Blaise, and kept chiding him for talking.

“Mouths are very hard to get right!” she said.

Draco was writing Goyle a letter. Harry nudged his shoulder playfully.

“Do you want your gift?”

Draco put down his pen, frowning. 

“This has got to stop sometime,” he said.

“Why? Come on, open it.” He waved the oblong package in Draco’s face, but suddenly Draco rose to his feet, looking—furious? Harry would have called the expression furious, if he had seen it at Hogwarts. Now that he knew Draco better, there was something else to it— it seemed conflicted, frightened. 

“For fuck’s sake, Harry, just _stop!”_

He stormed away, going back into the house—although he had grabbed the gift from Harry’s hands first. Harry stared after him.

“I can translate that for you, if you like,” said Blaise casually.

“Please.”

“Giving him gifts every day is unsustainable, and he’d rather you stopped because he asked you to, than because you stopped bothering.”

Harry watched Cassie, who was trying to paint Blaise’s hair and doing a very poor job of it. 

“So what should I do?”

“That depends,” said Blaise, “on whether you want him to fall in love with you or not.”

 _That,_ thought Harry instinctively. _I want that._

Cassie glanced up at him, and Harry remembered how high the stakes were. He didn’t even know if he was in love with Draco.

“I’ll stop with the gifts,” said Harry. “Since he asked.”

Blaise raised his eyebrows, but didn’t say more. Neither did Draco, the next day, when Harry didn’t give him anything, although Harry could tell that he was waiting, watching to see what he would do. 

Three days later, Harry gave Draco a thermos, so that he could take a cup of tea with him to work. 

“I thought we were done with this,” said Draco. “The gift thing.”

“We are,” said Harry. “I just saw this and thought of you.”

“Oh.” Draco looked at the thermos, unable to hide the glint he always got in his eyes when given something new. “Thank you." 

A week later, Harry brought him a bunch of daffodils, because they were the first ones he’d seen that season. 

“Apology flowers?” asked Draco carefully.

“Just flowers,” said Harry. “Thought you could put them in your room.”

“Oh,” said Draco. “Thanks.”

After that, he no longer questioned the irregular trickle of gifts.

Draco came downstairs from putting Cassie to bed. Harry handed him a cup of tea.

“God,” said Draco, sinking to the sofa and— and leaning back into Harry’s chest. Casually. As if they had been dating for years, and it was simply the way he sought comfort. “I’ve had such a rotten day.”

“Yeah?” asked Harry, although it came out as more of a squeak. Draco leant forward as suddenly as if he’d been burned.

“Shit,” he said. “Sorry. Fuck, I don’t know what came over me.”

“S’okay,” mumbled Harry.

“I didn’t mean to do that, I swear.”

“Draco,” said Harry. “Chill out.”

He touched Draco’s shoulder, gently guiding him back to rest against his chest. 

“It’s nice,” he said. 

Draco was stiff as a board against Harry’s body. 

“Nice?” he repeated.

“Yeah,” said Harry. “Tell me about your shit day.”

Draco huffed, but he did not move from Harry’s chest as he explained about the difficulties of halving a particular potion recipe, how it was all maths and Draco hated sums and the stupid potion probably wouldn’t sell anyway and he’d have to behead and debrain half a dozen bats tomorrow and why the fuck had he ever decided to open a potions shop in the first place?

“Well, why did you?”

“I wasn’t exactly swimming in options, Potter.”

Harry wished Draco would relax against him, the way he had so briefly when he first sat down. 

“What would you do, if you could do anything?”

Draco shifted away from him and drew his knees up to his chest. Although they weren’t touching anymore, Harry took comfort in the fact that they were sitting much closer than they ever did, usually. 

“Did you… did you know that in muggle schools, they teach English? All the way up until OWLs?”

“GCSEs,” corrected Harry. “Yeah, I did know that.”

“It’s considered one of the most important subjects. Like Transfiguration, for us. They teach them how to write, they read novels and poetry— in _school!_ They learn the art of essay-writing…”

“Is that not a thing, with purebloods?”

“We’re taught how to read and write, then we move on to other, more _important_ things.”

“So you’d want…”

“It’s stupid,” said Draco, looking at his knees.

“Tell me.”

“I like writing,” said Draco. “It calms me down.”

“That makes sense,” said Harry, and Draco’s head jerked up. “You’re a good writer.”

“How would you know?”

Harry rubbed the back of his neck. He didn’t like to bring it up.

“Your letters.”

“Oh, _those_ …! If you think I’m good when I’m just whinging about being poor, you should see me when I actually put in some effort.”

“I’d like to,” said Harry. “I’d read anything you wrote.”

Draco shrugged and wrapped his hands around his cup of tea, resting it on his knees.

“I haven’t had much time. Not since about eighth year. I started a novel when I was pregnant, but then I got too sick.”

“What _happened_ , with that?”

Draco laughed.

“Typical Cass. She was stealing all my nutrients. I was literally starving to death. Some weird glitch in male pregnancy.” He shook his head, still chuckling. “She was the bane of my existence from day one.”

“I feel like you’ve been hungry for a decade,” said Harry quietly. 

Draco stretched.

“I’m stuffed, now. That was a good ragout Kreacher made. I don’t even like ragout.”

“Quit your job and write a novel,” said Harry. 

_“‘Follow your heart,’”_ said Draco, in a sickly sweet voice, making doe eyes. _“‘Be true to yourself.’”_

“Yeah.”

“Grow up, Potter. I have.”

“You have money now. Even after—” Harry tripped over the words; he didn’t like to think about what would happen after their two years were up, “—after all this. You’ll have half of everything I own. You’ll be rich.”

“It’s not my money. It’s Cassie’s.”

“There’s plenty for both of you, trust me.”

“You just want me around the house more because Cassie is a handful.”

“She’s actually not,” said Harry. “She’s incredibly respectful and well-behaved most of the time. You did such a good job.”

Draco burned bright red and turned away. 

“Quit your job,” said Harry again. “Take a year and write.”

“It’s late,” said Draco, and went to bed. 

  
The next day, Harry gave him a grey leather notebook with creamy lined paper. Inside, he left a one-word inscription: “ _Write._ ”

Draco swallowed as he flipped through the thick pages, but he did not say anything beyond a quiet “thank you”. 

He did, however, start to write. He was secretive about it, but Harry caught him a few times, slipping the notebook hurriedly into his jacket pocket when people came into the room. And he stopped working weekends. 

  
The first Saturday Draco stayed home, Harry woke up and couldn’t find Cassie. He searched the house for her— she usually woke up long before Harry did—before hearing a low, steady voice coming from her bedroom. 

She and Draco were in her bed, Draco’s arm wrapped tightly around her as he read aloud to her from _Alice in Wonderland_. They both froze when Harry opened the door, as if they had been caught doing something illegal.

“Morning,” said Harry. Cassie tried to edge away from Draco, but he gripped her tightly around the shoulder and kept her by his side. 

“Morning,” said Draco. 

“Can I join?”

Cassie and Draco both nodded; identical, wary nods. Harry clambered onto the bed, settling next to Cassie.

“Go on,” said Harry. Draco cleared his throat, and continued to read. Cassie closed her eyes and leant her head against him, reaching out to take Harry’s hand.

They never sat like this. The three of them, all together. Harry had trouble listening. He was too distracted by the low, melodious tone of Draco’s voice, by the serious look of concentration on his face as he read, by the wedding ring on his finger, glinting in the morning sunlight. Cassie’s dark head, her delicate little features so peaceful, her legs pressed against Harry’s, and her small hand in his, as if she trusted him. As if she was glad he was there. 

When Draco finished the chapter, she stirred. 

“I’m going to go paint,” she said. She climbed over Harry and was out of the room before either of them could say anything. 

Harry and Draco were left alone in her bed, a small, Cassie-sized space between them. 

Harry edged closer to the centre of the bed until his elbow nudged Draco’s.

“How come you two only touch when you think no one’s watching?” he asked. 

Draco closed _Alice in Wonderland_ , carefully putting the bookmark in place.

“My family weren’t all that physically affectionate,” he said. Harry laughed.

“Nor was mine.”

“You were always hugging people in school. Hermione. Hagrid.”

“ _They_ hugged _me_ ,” said Harry. “I was always pretty baffled by it. The muggles I lived with never touched me if they could help it.”

Draco let his head roll to the side to look at him. 

“I read that Skeeter article about your childhood. I thought it was a load of bollocks,” he said.

“Well, I _didn’t_ say all that crap about ‘the knowledge that I was the Chosen One carrying me through the trials and tribulations of my youth.’”

“But… the cupboard?”

“That stuff was all true.”

“A fucking cupboard?”

“It was quite roomy.”

“Merlin, Harry.”

“Tragedy + time, right?”

Draco’s eyes were gentle, sympathetic.

“That’s the spirit,” he said. 

“But I worked through it, after Hogwarts,” said Harry. “Went to a Mind Healer and everything.”

“To learn how to cuddle?”

“Yeah,” said Harry. “And it was a total success. I’m cuddly as fuck, now.”

Draco let out a quiet breath of laughter.

“It was something Ginny said, actually, that made me go,” said Harry, more seriously. 

“What?”

Harry grimaced. He always had an almost physical reaction to memories from eighth year. 

“She said I only ever touched her when we fucked.”

A strange expression crossed Draco’s face.

“Ginny? I thought—”

“That I was only a shit to you?”

Draco didn’t answer, but Harry knew that was what he had meant. 

“I treated her appallingly,” said Harry. 

Draco was silent, his grey eyes completely unguarded for once. 

Their hands were right next to each other on the bed. Harry stretched out one finger to stroke the back of Draco’s hand. Draco’s gaze dropped to their hands and back to Harry’s face. 

“I don’t think Cass is… aware that she does this, but…” said Draco. Encouraged by the fact that he hadn’t pulled away, Harry covered Draco’s hand with his. “…I think she doesn’t like to make me look vulnerable in public.”

“So that’s why she pulls away from you when there are people there.”

Draco nodded. 

“And I’m not comfortable with…” Draco looked down at their hands. “This sort of thing.”

Harry tried to draw his hand away, but Draco grabbed it.

“Doesn’t mean I don’t like it,” he said. 

Harry nodded, lacing their fingers together.

“Yeah, that’s how I felt,” he said. “When Mrs. Weasley would hug me. I liked it, but I didn’t know how to respond.”

Draco seemed to be holding his breath. 

“Do you think it’s fucked up Cassie that I’m not more…” he asked, so softly that Harry could barely hear him.

Harry lifted Draco’s hand to his mouth and kissed the knuckles.

“I think Cassie knows exactly how much you love her.”

Draco closed his eyes, his relief clear. Harry edged closer to him and leant his head against Draco’s shoulder. After a brief pause during which Harry worried he had misjudged, Draco’s head touched his. 

“It’s…not been so bad, living with you, Potter,” he said, and Harry smiled, because he knew that in Draco-speak, he had just been given a priceless compliment. 


	13. Chapter 13

  
They had been married six months when Lucius Malfoy died.

They were having breakfast together. Draco and Cassie always read _The Prophet_ , silently passing each other sections that they thought would interest each other. 

Draco folded the paper shut with abrupt precision. 

“Cassie,” he said, his voice cold and formal. “I have some bad news for you.”

Cassie put her toast down. 

“Your grandfather has died,” said Draco, as if he was talking about someone he’d never known. “I’m sorry. I hoped you’d meet him one day.”

Cassie frowned at her abandoned toast.

“Are you okay?” she asked Draco.

Draco smiled a wholly unconvincing smile.

“Fine,” he said.

“Draco,” began Harry. Draco took out his pocket watch. 

“Time for school, Cass.”

“I’ll take her,” said Harry.

“You’ll be late for work.”

“It’s okay.” 

Draco nodded. 

“Thank you. I just need to—”

He didn’t finish his sentence. He simply left the room. 

Cassie seemed unusually chipper as they went to school. Harry knew her well enough to know that she sometimes got cheerier when she was upset. 

“Think of all those lucky dogs,” she said. “Although maybe they won’t get anything until my grandmother dies. How much money does a dog need, anyway? I don’t really like animals. Snakes are all right. Is it true you can talk to snakes? I wonder how he died. It was in the obituaries, I suppose. I never bother reading those, except for the names; the names can be quite funny sometimes. Do you like dogs? You didn’t know your grandparents, either. Uncle Blaise’s grandfather sends him newspaper clippings whenever Blaise is in the papers. I wonder if my grandparents read the newspapers. They would have seen pictures of me, if they did, wouldn’t they?”

“I guess so,” said Harry. 

“Father always said they’d love me if they met me. He said that about you, too.”

“You don’t have to go to school today, Cass, if you don’t want.”

“I can’t miss _school_ ,” said Cassie. “We’re getting our creative writing projects back and mine was twelve pages long.”

“Right. What was I thinking.”

He dropped her off. He would only be ten minutes late to work, if he hurried.

He went back to Grimmauld Place.

He heard Draco the moment he walked through the door: laboured, jagged breathing. 

Draco was in the kitchen, bracing himself against the table. Dry sobs shook his slim body. 

The floorboards creaked under Harry’s feet, and Draco whirled around, pointing his wand at Harry’s heart. It was so familiar a sight, but this time, Harry did not draw his own wand.

“Draco,” he said, holding up his hands. 

The wand shook in Draco’s hand for a moment longer, and then it fell to the ground with a clatter, and Draco hunched back over the table, shoulders heaving.

“Hey,” said Harry, going to stand behind him. Draco didn’t answer. Harry wasn’t sure he could. He wove his arms around Draco’s chest and pulled him close. Draco was stiff, and then suddenly he turned to face Harry and balled his hands up in the front of Harry’s robes. 

“You hated him,” he said.

Harry stroked his back, pressed his cheek against the side of Draco’s head.

“Breathe,” he said, because Draco was clearly struggling to. Draco buried his face in Harry’s shoulder and shuddered. 

Harry didn’t say anything. He let his hands travel, flat-palmed, up and down Draco’s trembling back.

“You have work,” said Draco eventually, his voice thin and raw. 

“This is more important.”

They stood like that for a while. Finally, Draco stepped away, composing his face.

“You should go,” he said.

“I’m not going to work today,” said Harry. “I’ll give you space if you want, though.”

Draco looked at him as if he could barely understand what Harry had just said. 

“Tea?” offered Harry.

Draco nodded, his eyes suddenly warm, as if Harry had bought him something extravagant. Even little things were gifts, to Draco. He was generous in the way he received.

“Go to the sitting room. I’ll bring it to you,” said Harry. 

He was curled up under a blanket by the time Harry arrived with two cups of tea. He looked very young, which was strange, because when he was young, Harry would never have sat next to him, desperate to comfort. 

“You hated him,” said Draco, again. 

“He was still your father, though,” said Harry. 

Draco nodded into his mug.

“Mother will be devastated,” he said.

Harry didn’t know what to say. He found it difficult to care about Narcissa Malfoy’s grief, when she hadn’t been there for Draco, all those years ago. It was probably how Pansy felt about him, he realised. 

“He used to buy me things,” said Draco. “He never told me he—but he would buy me gifts.”

Harry remembered how smug Draco had looked, in second year, when Lucius had bought the Slytherin quidditch team Nimbus 2001s. At the time, Harry hadn’t understood: he would have been embarrassed, to have so blatantly bought his way onto the team. But now he saw that to Draco, the brooms had been proof that Lucius loved him. 

“He didn’t love me,” said Draco.

“He did,” said Harry automatically.

“Fuck off,” said Draco, without any heat. “How would you know?”

“Because I saw him. On the day of the battle. I saw him beg Voldemort to end it, so that you would be safe.”

Draco’s eyes were vacant.

“Then why…” he broke off. “There’s nothing Cass could do that would make me turn on her. Nothing.”

“They should have stood by you,” said Harry.

“Mother sent me money when she could,” said Draco. “In unmarked envelopes. I actually thought it was you, at first, but then I smelled her perfume.”

Harry leant his shoulder into Draco’s.

“You hated him,” said Draco, a third time. 

“I think he screwed you over in more ways than one,” said Harry, because it was clear that they were going to have to talk about it.

Draco’s face contorted into an expression Harry recognised from Hogwarts. Back then, it had usually preceded him calling Hermione a mudblood. It was bizarre how knowing Draco as an adult cast new light on his behaviour as a child. Harry couldn’t help but see, now, how it was fear that twisted Draco’s features like that; fear and self-hatred.

“I wanted to be a Death Eater,” spat Draco. “I wasn’t forced into it. The Dark Lord invited me to join, and I fucking jumped at the chance.”

“I think I’m in love with you,” said Harry. 

There was a pregnant pause. Then:

“What the _fuck_ , Potter?”

“I’m sorry,” said Harry, sitting up to face him. “I didn’t mean to say that.”

“My father just _died_.”

“I know. I’m sorry. Fuck, I’ve really cocked this up.”

“What the hell were you thinking?”

Harry’s heart was beating in his ears.

“It just slipped out.”

“It just _slipped out?”_

Harry nodded miserably. Draco laughed, a hurt, bitter sort of laughter.

“Merlin,” he said. “You must be fucking desperate for a shag.”

“I’m not trying to shag you!”

“No? Then what the fuck do you want from me?”

“Nothing!” Harry put his head in hands. “Sorry! God!”

They sat in silence for a long moment, not looking at each other.

“It wasn’t a funny joke,” said Draco, his voice tight and low.

“It wasn’t a joke.”

“It wasn’t a good way to try and cheer me up, either. It was fucking patronising, actually.”

“Draco. I shouldn’t have said it today, okay? I didn’t mean to.”

“You shouldn’t have said it at all,” said Draco sharply.

“Fine,” said Harry. “I’m sorry, okay?”

Draco was silent, his jaw twitching. Harry edged closer to him on the sofa, put an arm around his shoulders. Draco stiffened, but only for a moment, just the way Cassie used to, when Harry held her. 

“I’m sorry,” said Harry again, more softly this time. Draco moved his head in a motion that was like a nod, but less definite. 

_“Ça va?”_ asked Harry. Draco cast him an astonished look.

_“Tu parles Francais maintenant?”_

“I have no idea what you just said.”

Draco laughed. 

_“Tu m’embrouilles,”_ he said. _“Ce n’est pas juste de me donner de l’espoir come ça.”_

“You know I can’t understand you,” said Harry.

Draco curled himself into Harry. Harry put both his arms around him and held him close. 

“Can we just stay like this for a bit?” asked Draco, his voice muffled.

“Let’s lie down,” said Harry. So they did, Harry lying on his back, Draco slotting next to him, his head nestled in the crook of Harry’s shoulder. 

“Shag, marry, hex,” said Harry, after ten minutes of quiet. “McGonagall, Sprout, and Hooch.”

“You bastard. How am I suppose to choose between all of these vixens?”

A dozen rounds later, Harry was crying with laughter, and Draco was still warm across his chest. 

“Thank you,” said Draco.

“Yeah, that was a pretty good one,” agreed Harry. (Viktor Krum, Roger Davies, and Oliver Wood.)

“No, I mean. For skipping work.”

Harry tipped Draco’s chin up with his fingers.

“Anytime.”

Their mouths were so close. He kissed Draco on the nose, because he had to kiss him somewhere or he would go crazy. Draco blinked, blushed, and tucked his head down into Harry’s chest. 

“Filch, Eloise Midgen, or Hannah Abbott but she’s sick,” said Draco.

The game continued.

They ate lunch on the floor of the sitting room and went for a walk in the afternoon. Draco had his hands in his pockets and told Harry stories about Lucius. It was hard, but Harry managed to stay silent throughout. He knew that Draco didn’t need to be reminded that his father was a bastard.

They picked Cassie up from school together. As they walked home, Harry remembered the letter Draco had written him, about holding hands with both his parents. Cassie had his hand in hers, but her other hand was in her pocket. 

“Cass, take your father’s hand,” he told her. “He’s had a tough day.”

She and Draco both looked at him with incredulous expressions, but neither of them disagreed. Cassie reached out for Draco, and the three of them walked home like that, in a chain. 

  
That night, Harry used his translation spell to look up up what Draco had said in French. He could only remember one word: _“espoir”._ It meant “hope”. 


	14. Chapter 14

When Harry got back from work the next day, Narcissa Malfoy was in his sitting room. 

Draco stood up when he saw Harry.

“Harry, you’ve met my mother.”

“Yes,” said Harry, not bothering to hold out his hand. “Forgiven her, have you? I wouldn’t.”

“You know how I feel about second chances,” said Draco. 

Privately, Harry felt that Narcissa Malfoy’s _first_ chance had been used up when she embroiled Draco in a bloodthirsty war at the age of sixteen. But Draco looked _happy_. So all Harry said was,

“It’s up to you, of course.”

“Thank you for taking care of my son,” said Narcissa, demure, her eyes lowered.

“I didn’t,” said Harry. “Not for most of it. He had no one except Pansy and Blaise, and he was starving and lonely and poor.”

“Harry,” said Draco.

“I’m glad he’s loyal to you,” murmured Narcissa.

“I’m his _husband_ ,” said Harry.

“She knows,” said Draco. “She knows it’s a sham.”

Harry rubbed the end of his nose.

“Right. Fine. I’ll go pick up Cassie from Sasha’s house. Do you want her to meet…” he gestured vaguely at Narcissa. 

“Please,” said Narcissa quietly.

“I know what you’re thinking,” said Draco, and Harry was 100% sure he didn’t, because what Harry was thinking was that Draco was so real to him, so real that he could scarcely think about anything else, “but I want Cass to have a grandmother. And mother will be good.”

Harry glared at Narcissa, identifying more than ever with Pansy Parkinson. 

“If you do _anything_ to make Cassie feel… inferior, or…”

“I promise,” said Narcissa.

“One _word_ about blood purity…!”

“Of course not,” said Narcissa.

“Has she even fucking apologised?” Harry asked Draco. 

“We’ve come to an understanding,” said Draco. Harry made an exasperated sound, and Draco smiled indulgently. “I don’t expect you to agree with me.”

“You’re a _saint_ , Draco.”

Draco’s smile became rather stilted and unpleasant.

“Yes, that’s what I’m known for: goodness. Go pick up Cassie, would you?”

Harry wasn’t sure what possessed him, but he went to Draco and kissed him forcefully on the cheek.

“Whatever you want,” he said, and left. 

However Harry felt about Narcissa, he could not deny that she was happy to see Cassie. Her whole face lit up when Cassie walked in the door, and she admired her at length, praising everything from her “ladylike” hands to her “graceful gait.”

Cassie was clearly suspicious, but her curiosity seemed to exceed her disgust at being called ladylike. She tolerated the gushing with good grace, casting frequent glances at Draco. And that, Harry suspected, was the key reason she was so well-behaved: because Draco sat in a nearby armchair, glowing with happiness. 

Narcissa didn’t stay for long.

“I’ll see you at the funeral,” she told Draco quietly, and Draco nodded. 

“When’s the funeral?” asked Harry, once she was gone.

“Friday.”

“I’m going with you.”

Draco frowned.

“You hated him.”

 _But I love you,_ thought Harry. 

Harry was pretty sure Draco loved him back. But he also knew that Draco didn’t trust him, and that he would have to work hard to convince Draco that Harry wanted more than sex, or the convenience of continuing a relationship with the father of his child. 

“It’s not about him,” said Harry. “It’s about you.”

“Okay,” said Draco, tilting his head. “Thank you.”

  
Harry, Cassie and Draco sat at the back of Lucius’ funeral. There were not many people in attendance, and Draco walked out early. Harry did not go after him. He suspected that Draco wanted to be alone. But after they had watched the coffin be lowered into the ground, after Draco had exchanged a few murmured condolences with his mother, Harry put his arm around him and drew him away, and they went to the Imperial War Museum.

“I hate this place,” said Draco. 

“Look!” said Cassie. “Here’s one of the original gas masks from the Second Battle of Ypres!”

“She’s obsessed with glory,” Draco said under his breath, when Cassie darted away. “If there was a war on, she’d enlist at fifteen.”

“That’s because she’s related to us,” said Harry. “Neither of us were ever going to stay out of the thick of it.”

“I’ve raised her this way,” said Draco. “Just like my father raised me.”

Harry pulled Draco closer, ignoring the people who stared. 

“You’re an amazing father. It’s one of the things I love most about you.”

“I don’t know what you’re playing at,” said Draco. 

“I’m not playing anything.”

Draco sighed and broke away to catch up with Cassie. 

That evening, after Cassie went to bed, Draco started drinking, and he didn’t stop for hours. Harry kept up with him at first, but soon it became apparent that it was a race he could not win. Draco was merry, then boisterous, then sombre. When he began speaking in Shakespearean English, Harry knew they had reached the final stage of Draco Malfoy inebriation. 

_“How sharper than a serpent’s tooth it is to have a thankless child!”_ he quoted, gesticulating madly. 

“Cassie isn’t thankless.”

“Fool! Dost thou mistake me deliberately? ’Tis I who am thankless, guilty wretch that I am, for my father did wish only one thing of me—”

“Pretty sure he wanted you to be straight,” said Harry. 

“Nay,” said Draco, shaking his head and leaning disconsolately against the mantlepiece. “’Twas not _that_ he loathed, but _you_.”

“So if it had been Blaise, he would have stuck around?”

“He used to take my punishments, in the war,” said Draco conversationally, reverting to regular English as if he was switching between languages. “My father. Not Blaise.” He sang. _“Crucio, crucio, crucio!”_ He punctuated each word with a dramatic flourishing of his finger, as if it was a wand.

“Draco… have you ever thought about seeing a Mind Healer?”

 _“Something is rotten in the state of Draco!”_ Draco leant forward confidingly. “The quotation is ‘Something is rotten in the state of _Denmark_ ,’ but I changed it. Clever, no?”

“Very.”

Draco took a sip of his wine glass, noticed it was empty, and held it upside down with a comically disappointed expression. “I’ve been writing a novel,” he said.

“That’s amazing.”

 _“You’re_ amazing,” retorted Draco, scowling. “More wine, please.”

“I think you’ve had enough.”

Draco cast a spell to fill his glass with water, then transfigured it to wine. He sipped it and grimaced.

“Inferior vintage. Very woody.”

“What’s the novel about?”

“A werewolf who bit someone,” said Draco. _“Guilt.”_

“That sounds interesting.”

“He falls in love with the man he bit.”

“Does he now?”

 _“The course of true love never did run smooth,”_ Draco informed him. 

“No,” said Harry. “I guess not. So what happens to them?”

“Why did you say you were in love with me?”

“Because I am.”

Draco narrowed his eyes and took a long drink of wine, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand afterwards.

“I shall uncover thy knavish tricks, ere the night is done!”

“You’re very cute when you’re drunk, but I think it’s time for bed,” said Harry.

“Of course you do,” said Draco, lowering his voice. “All right. Take me to bed.”

Harry rolled his eyes, took the wine glass from Draco, and set it on the coffee table.

“Come on. Can you walk?”

“Can _you?”_

Harry put his arm around Draco’s waist and helped him up to his room. Draco shushed him loudly as they passed Aunt Walburga.

“Shhhhhhh!” he said. “Don’t want Cassie to feel bad that she’s not a pureblood!” 

“I really don’t think she cares.”

“I would care, if I were her,” said Draco. “My blood’s so pure I can give _birth_.” He looked thoughtful. “Then again, so can Cassie, probably, one day. If she wants.”

“Come on,” said Harry. 

When they got to Draco’s bedroom, Draco stumbled forward and tried to kiss him. Harry pulled away.

“Calm down, tiger. Where are your pyjamas?”  
  
Draco gestured vaguely at the bed. Harry found them neatly folded under his pillow. Draco was trying, and failing, to unbutton his shirt.

“Let me,” said Harry. Draco stood very still as Harry unbuttoned him, and gently took his shirt off. He folded it over the arm of a nearby chair. Draco stood, half naked, staring at him with wide eyes. He was covering his Dark Mark with his hand. Harry helped him into his pyjama shirt, but did not button it. 

“I’m not _this_ drunk,” said Draco.

“Humour me,” said Harry, undoing Draco’s flies and helping him pull down his trousers. “Step out.” 

Draco stood before him, wearing only boxers and an open shirt, and Harry was kneeling right in front of his clearly hard dick. 

Draco put his hands in Harry’s hair and drew him up. 

“I meant it,” he breathed. “You can fuck me if you need. If you want.”

Harry put his hand flat against the back of Draco’s head, his thumb catching on Draco’s ear. 

“I love you,” said Harry, and kissed him chastely on the lips. He pushed Draco towards the bed. “Now go to sleep.”

 _“Tu m’embrouilles,”_ said Draco, climbing under the covers.

“You said that before. What does it mean?”

“You confuse me.”

“I’m sorry. I wish I hadn’t been so awful to you when we were younger.”

Draco laughed.

“Me too!” He buried his face in his pillow. “Remember that time I was a Death Eater and almost murdered three people?”

“You were sixteen.”

“So were you, and you didn’t—oh, it doesn’t ever go away, does it?”

“What?”

“Shame.”

Harry climbed into the bed and Draco shimmied close to him.

“You’re so lovely,” said Harry, without meaning to. He had meant to say something else, something about shame, and forgiveness, but then Draco had stretched in his arms and Harry had felt the ribs moving beneath his hands and the words had slipped out despite himself.

“I’m good with my mouth, too,” said Draco. “Remember how good I feel?

“I’m not having sex with you,” said Harry. “Tempting as you are.”

“Then what are you doing here?” asked Draco sleepily.

“Draco…”

Draco smiled and nuzzled his face into Harry’s shirt. Harry caressed the long, straight line of his nose, the pale curve of his eyelids.

“What would it take, to convince you that I love you?” he asked.

Draco didn’t answer for so long that Harry thought he’d fallen asleep.

“Time,” he said. 


	15. Chapter 15

When Harry woke up, Draco was sitting fully-dressed by his bedside, looking extremely mature and responsible. 

“Hangover potion?” he offered.

“I only had three beers,” said Harry.

“Ah. Just me then.” Draco looked down at his hands. “Seems I can’t have a glass of wine without throwing myself at you.”

Hangover potion had the added side effect of causing the drinker to remember the events of the night before, no matter how drunk he had been. 

“As I remember it, _I’m_ the one who crawled into bed with _you_.”

Draco’s expression flickered, his eyebrows drawing together.

“You said it again. Last night. You said you loved me.”

“Yeah,” nodded Harry, sitting up and putting on his glasses. “Because I do.”

Draco rubbed his eyes with his thumb and forefinger, as if he was very tired.

“Harry…”

“I’m not saying it so that you’ll sleep with me.”

“I know,” said Draco heavily. “I know you wouldn’t do that. Consciously, at least. But, Harry, you’re obviously a bit carried away by all this happy-family stuff.”

“Right. I thought you would say that,” said Harry. “That I just want you because of Cassie. But it’s really not that. I mean, obviously, how you are with Cass is incredibly attractive, because you’re such a good father and it’s sexy as hell—”

“Exactly. You’d marry a mop, if it had birthed your child. You just want a _family_.”

“I want _our_ family.”

Draco tucked a strand of blond hair out of his eyes.

“Maybe that should be enough for me,” he said. “But it isn’t it. I don’t want to be with someone because they are convinced the nuclear family unit is the only thing that will make them happy.”

“It’s not like that! I love you!”

Draco clenched his jaw and looked out of the window. Harry got out of bed and went to stand by him.

“You don’t have to believe me right away,” he said. “Time, you said. I can give you that.”

Draco leant his forehead against Harry’s. 

“I would like to believe you,” he said.

“Can I kiss you?”

“You know you can. That’s the problem.”

So Harry kissed Draco’s eyelids instead. 

Not much changed after that. Their routine continued— trips on the weekends, dinner as a family each night, visits from Blaise and Ron and Hermione. Harry updated Ron and Hermione the moment he was alone with them.

“Draco doesn’t believe I love him,” he said. Ron choked on a bit of bagel, but Hermione looked unsurprised.

“Well, I can see why he would have some reservations,” she said. 

“I’m trying to wear him down,” said Harry.

“I hope it works out,” said Hermione, lowering her voice. They were in the garden, and Draco was walking towards them, bearing a bowl of crisps. 

“You two have always been mental about each other,” muttered Ron.

“Crisps?’ said Draco.

“You’re amazing,” said Harry, taking the bowl. “Thank you.”

Everything was the same, except every morning, without fail, Harry brought Draco a cup of tea in bed. Draco would smile groggily at him and let Harry sit next to him for ten minutes while they talked about their plans for the day.

“I love you,” Harry told him every morning, when he gave him the tea. 

“I love you,” he said again, every evening, when he walked Draco up to his bedroom. Sometimes Draco let him kiss him against the door. Mostly, though, Draco turned his face away at the last moment and murmured “Goodnight” before slipping into his bedroom. 

Harry didn’t mind, either way. He knew his persistence reassured Draco; he could tell from Draco’s half smiles and slightly embarrassed eye rolls whenever Harry told him he loved him.

“I love you,” he told Draco, that evening. Draco breathed out sharply and let his head fall forward so that their noses touched.

“Goodnight,” he said, kissing Harry so quickly Harry barely had time to register it before Draco was gone.

Cassie appeared from under the invisibility cloak.

“Gah!”

“What’s going on?” she asked sternly. Harry ushered her away from Draco’s door. 

“Come on. We’ll talk in your room,” he said.

Once they were safely in her bedroom, she turned to him with a fierce look, her hands on her hips.

“What are your intentions towards Father?” she demanded. 

"They're honourable. I swear."

Cassie looked unconvinced.

“Cass... what did he say, when he told you we were getting married?”

Cassie’s clever green eyes scanned the room, as if she was trying to decide on which lie to tell.

“Did he tell you that he was in love with me?” asked Harry. Slowly, Cassie nodded.

“But he said you didn’t feel the same way,” she added accusatorially. Harry couldn’t stop himself from grinning.

“Well, I do. Is that okay with you?”

“I thought you were still mad at him about the war.”

Harry shrugged.

“Eh. Not so much.”

“Do you mean it?”

“Yes.”

Cassie surveyed him for a few moments.

“That’s romantic,” she announced. 

“It sort of is, isn’t it?”

“Will you stay married, then?”

“If he’ll have me. But I’m not sure he’ll be able to trust me again, Cass. I messed a lot of things up when I was younger.”

“Aunt Pansy’s going to hate this,” said Cassie gleefully.

“I don’t blame her. Now, it’s long past your bedtime, and you have school tomorrow.”

Cassie grudgingly allowed Harry to tuck her into bed. 

  
“What’s wrong?” asked Draco.

“Nothing.”

“You’re glowering.”

“I’m not.”

“It’s because of the anniversary, isn’t it?”

It was rapidly approaching May 2nd, and Harry’s mood had dipped accordingly. He hadn’t thought Draco would notice. But Draco always noticed things. He was annoyingly observant. 

Harry shrugged. Cassie and Sasha were trying to do cartwheels in the grass. Sasha was managing very well. Cassie kept doing forward rolls by accident. 

“She’ll be getting her Hogwarts letter this summer,” he said. Cassie had turned eleven shortly after moving to Grimmauld Place. Harry had baked her a cake and hyperventilated in the bathroom after singing her happy birthday, because of all the birthdays he’d missed. 

Draco nodded.

“Then I’ll finally be rid of her,” he said. “Thank the Lord!”

Harry knew how much Draco was dreading her leaving. He could tell, from the way Draco looked at her sometimes, hungrily, like he was trying to gobble up memories. 

“I’m always a bit irritable, this time of year,” said Harry.

“Me, too.”

“I haven’t noticed.”

“That’s because I’m always irritable,” said Draco. 

“Do you want more kids?”

Draco studied his cup of tea.

“No,” he said. “Do you?”

Harry watched Cassie fall into yet another forward roll. 

“Why not?” he asked.

Draco’s face was drawn.

“A few reasons. Cassie would hate it, for one. She’s like me; she doesn’t like to share. She’d feel as if she were being replaced. And honestly, I _hated_ it when she was little. I don’t like kids. I felt trapped.” He cast Harry a surreptitious glance. “Even if I wanted to, the healers told me it would kill me to have another child. So. If you want Cassie 2.0, you’d better start looking elsewhere.”

“I don’t want Cassie 2.0,” said Harry. 

“Of course you do,” said Draco, under his breath.

“I’m sad to have missed so much, that’s all.”

Draco scoffed.

“It was a nightmare, from beginning to end.”

“You don’t mean that,” said Harry.

“No,” sighed Draco. “I don’t.”

Harry reached for his hand, and was surprised when Draco let him take it. 

“There’s no one I’d rather have a child with than you,” he said.

“What a ridiculous statement.”

“True, though.”

“More tea?” asked Draco, disentangling his hand from Harry’s.

“I’d rather have one child with you than a dozen with anyone else,” said Harry. 

“But you do want more.”

“I just want this,” said Harry, gesturing towards Draco. Towards Cassie. “Just this, forever.”

Draco opened his mouth to say something, seemed to think better of it, and went to the kitchen to make a fresh pot of tea.

  
The night before the anniversary of the battle, Cassie went to stay at Sasha’s house. Harry, Draco, Ron, Hermione and Blaise spent the evening at the pub. Draco was quiet. He and Harry kept making eye contact and looking away from each other. Neither of them drank much. When the pub called last orders, they decided to go home. Blaise drew Draco aside and whispered to him. Draco frowned and shook his head. 

“Come on,” he said to Harry.

“Everything all right?” 

“Blaise has a vivid imagination, that’s all.”

Harry did not inquire further. They apparated back to Grimmauld Place, and walked slowly up the stairs together to Draco’s room. 

“I love you,” said Harry, the way he did every night.

“Do you want to come in?”

Draco was nervous. He was fiddling with his sleeves, and his pupils were wide. 

“Draco…” Harry put his hands on Draco’s warm chest. He wanted to come in so badly. Draco’s gaze kept flickering to Harry’s mouth. “I don’t want to sleep with you until you trust me.”

“I’m not going to trust you until I’ve slept with you,” said Draco. The words sounded rehearsed. Harry cocked his head, confused, and Draco took a deep breath. “What if you’re only being… like this… because you haven’t had me yet? What if it’s just the chase?”

“It’s not.”  
Draco shrugged one shoulder jerkily.

“Maybe. Maybe not. Only one way to find out.”

“You’re offering this to distract me from the anniversary.”

“Partly.”

Harry leant in and kissed him. Draco kissed back, pushing his body into Harry’s.

“It’s not the chase,” said Harry. 

“You like achieving things. You want to achieve me,” said Draco.

“I want to wake up next to you for the next ninety years,” said Harry. Draco closed his eyes and made a small sound.

“Come inside,” he said.

“Okay,” said Harry. “Okay.”

Harry had had sex with Draco before, countless times and countless ways. He thoughts he knew how sex with Draco went. 

He was wrong. 

It was nothing like how it had been in eighth year. It was careful, reverent, delicate. It was Draco gasping “Don’t forget the protection charm!” and Harry’s heart singing at the inference that Draco might love him and trust him enough for pregnancy to be a risk. It was Draco whispering his name over and over, and Harry calling him darling as he came. 

They lay in bed, sticky and silent, staring at each other. Harry let his eyes trace every feature of Draco’s face; the pale eyebrows, the sharp chin, the white blond hair that fell into his eyes. 

“Do you actually love me?” asked Draco. Quietly. Seriously.

“I’ve never felt this way before,” said Harry. “About anyone.”

Draco licked his lips. 

“Why?”

Harry traced the line of Draco’s neck.

“I honestly think it would be easier to list the reasons I don’t love you.”

“Okay,” said Draco.

“What?”

“Do that. Why don’t you love me?”

Harry thought for a moment, tried to formulate his feelings into words.

“I’m ashamed of myself when I look at you,” said Harry. “And that’s hard.”

“Don’t be,” said Draco, upset.

“It’s okay,” said Harry. “Shame is like that, right? Hard to get rid of.”

Draco sucked in a breath and nodded.

“Yeah.”

“I think that’s it, though,” said Harry. “I think that’s the only thing I don’t love about you.”

“What about…” Draco lifted his left forearm. Harry covered the Mark with his hand. 

“You know I admire you for that.” Draco made an outraged sound of disbelief. “No, not for _taking_ it. For who you’ve become since then. For being so funny, even when you were eighteen, pregnant in a muggle tube station, disinherited, hated and alone.”

“You shouldn’t have read those letters.”

“I wish you had sent them.”

Draco looked away.

“I was so fucked up after you,” he said. “After the war, too, I suppose, but particularly by you. I cared so much about what you thought, and…”

“I’m sorry,” said Harry breathlessly. “Draco, I’m so sorry.”

Draco nodded.

“Yeah, I’m sorry, too. It’s not like you didn’t have good reason to hate me.” He raised his left arm again. “Blood supremacist terror organisation, and all that.”

“I love you,” said Harry. 

Draco bit the side of his cheek. 

“There has to be a catch,” he said. “There’s always a catch.”

Harry kissed him gently.

“If someone told you, when you were eleven, that you would marry and have a child with a man who was head over heels in love with you, but you would have to suffer over a decade of poverty and depravation first, wouldn’t you feel as if that was the catch?”

 _“Ça me fait mal quand tu me donnes de l’espoir,”_ said Draco.

“‘ _Espoir_ ,’” said Harry. “Hope.”

Draco bit his lip. Harry kissed it.

“Keep hoping,” he said.

“Okay,” said Draco. 

  
“Can I move my stuff in here?” asked Harry, after they had been sleeping together for a month. 

“A bit keen,” said Draco. “We’ve only been doing this a month.”

“True. But we are married.”

“Oh, I see. Keeping up appearances,” said Draco, with a laugh.

“Exactly. So?”

“Yeah, all right,” said Draco, offhand.

  
The day Cassie got her Hogwarts letter, Draco kissed Harry in front of her. 

“Gross,” said Cassie. 

“You don’t seem very surprised,” said Draco.

“Dad told me he loved you ages ago,” said Cassie. 

“Did he?” asked Draco, looking at Harry in surprise. “And what did you tell him?”

“That you loved him back. When shall we go to Diagon Alley? Can I get a snake?”

Draco blushed furiously red and murmured something about Hogwarts-approved familiars. 

“Did she really say that?” he asked Harry, when Cassie went to her room to start packing. (There was no use telling her she wouldn’t be leaving for a month. She wanted to decide which of her war books she would bring _now_.)

Harry nodded. 

“Little traitress,” muttered Draco.

“I knew, anyway,” said Harry.

“How?”

Harry stroked along Draco’s jawline, kissed him softly. 

“Because you wouldn’t have married me, otherwise. You said. You only wanted to marry for love.”

“Ah.”

“I love you, Draco.”

Draco nodded sharply. 

“I—” he bit his lip nervously. “I do, too.”

“Fuck,” said Harry, grinning. “Really?”

Draco nodded again.

“That’s good,” said Harry. He couldn’t stop smiling. “That’s—good. I’m glad. Fuck. I love you.”

Draco kissed him, this time.

“I know,” said Draco. “I think.”

\----------------

  
It was winter, and Cassie was in her second year at Hogwarts. She was, of course, a Slytherin. She was due back for the Christmas holidays in a few weeks, and Draco had already hired a muggle tutor to come to the house four days a week, because he said that the Hogwarts curriculum didn’t prioritise basics like writing and maths. 

Harry came in from work with the kind of headache he knew came from too much paperwork, but he didn’t feel bone weary the way he used to. He knew Draco would be waiting for him with dinner and a rant about editing manuscript proofs. 

“The editor wants me to cut out the _whole thread_ about eating habits,” said Draco, the moment Harry walked in the door. “You look shit, by the way. Wine?”

“Yes, please.”

“And obviously, if I cut that, then I have to change the character development, because they spend the whole second third of the novel bonding over their fucked up eating habits—”

“So tell the editor to fuck off,” said Harry, taking off his coat and hanging it on the hooks that Draco had put in by the front door. 

“No, because she’s right. I hate it, but she’s right. It’s too much angst and talk, not enough action. But I _hate_ editing.”

“Don’t lie; you love it, really. You’re such a bloody perfectionist.”

“Hmm, maybe deep down,” said Draco, handing Harry a glass of wine and kissing him lightly on the lips. “How was your day? You’ve got that glazed over look again. Is it the paperwork from the train murder case?”

“Yeah,” said Harry, putting the wine down on the table. “Draco, do you know the date?”

“November 27th, why?”

“We were married on this date. Two years ago.”

Draco froze. 

“Oh,” he said in a small voice. “I suppose… I suppose I hadn’t kept track.”

Harry got to one knee.

“What the fuck are you doing, Harry?”

“Draco Malfoy, will you stay married to me?”

“Harry. Get up. This is absurd.”

Harry pulled out the new ring he had bought. It was white gold, with red and green stones. 

“I love you,” said Harry. “If I could marry you all over again, I would.”

Draco couldn’t keep his eyes off the ring. 

“That’s pretty,” he said. Harry laughed.

“You’d marry your worst enemy, if they bought you something shiny first.”

“I _did_ marry my worst enemy,” said Draco. 

“Right,” said Harry. He took the ring out of the box and slid it on Draco’s finger. “Say yes.”

Draco pulled him to his feet. 

“You’re a show-off,” he said. Harry wrapped his arms around Draco’s waist, drawing their hips together.

“We could have another ceremony,” he said. “A renewal of the vows. Your mother could come.”

“Harry.”

“I love you,” said Harry.

“I love you too,” said Draco, and Harry broke out into a wide grin. Draco had never actually said it before, not in so many words, although he had shown it in a million little ways, from the moment he and Cassie had appeared in Harry’s life. 

“Is that a yes?”

“Yes,” said Draco. 

Harry pulled him close and squeezed so tight that Draco yelped.

“Sorry,” said Harry. “I’m just happy.”

“You’re a nightmare,” said Draco. “My awful, nightmarish husband.”

“Yep,” said Harry. “And I’m here to stay.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I review books on instagram at @let_them_eat_books if you're interested in that! Thank you for your lovely, engaging comments. This story was so fun to write!


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